I 


119E 


02  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

"  Martha  By-the-Day  " 
MAKING   OVER   MARTHA 

By 
JULIE  M.  LIPPMANN 

This  story  follows  "Martha"  and  her 
family  to  the  country,  where  she  again  finds 
a  love  affair  on  her  hands. 

Just  Ready 
($1.20  net,  by  mail  $1.32) 


HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

Publisher!  New  York 


MARTHA    BY-THE-DAY 


By 
JULIE    M.  LIPPMANN 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
1914 


COPYRIGHT,  1912, 

BY 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


Published  August,  1912 

Reprinted  September,  October  (twice),  December,  1912 

February,  March,  April,  August,  November,  December,  1913 

January, 1914 


THE    OUINN    A    OODCM    CO.   PRESS 


MARTHA   BY-THE-DAY 


2131.182 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 


CHAPTER  I 

IF  you  are  one  of  the  favored  few,  privileged  to 
ride  in  chaises,  you  may  find  the  combination 
of  Broadway  during  the  evening  rush-hour,  in  a 
late  November  storm,  stimulating — you  may,  that 
is,  provided  you  have  a  reliable  driver.  If,  con 
trariwise,  you  happen  to  be  of  the  class  whose  fate 
it  is  to  travel  in  public  conveyances  (and  lucky  if 
you  have  the  price!)  and  the  car,  say,  won't  stop 

for  you — why 

Claire  Lang  had  been  standing  in  the  drenching 
wet  at  the  street-crossing  for  fully  ten  minutes. 
The  badgering  crowd  had  been  shouldering  her 
one  way,  pushing  her  the  other,  until,  being  a 
stranger  and  not  very  big,  she  had  become  so  be 
wildered  that  she  lost  her  head  completely,  and, 
with  the  blind  impulse  of  a  hen  with  paresis, 
darted  straight  out,  in  amidst  the  crush  of  traffic, 
with  all  the  chances  strong  in  favor  of  her  being 
instantly  trampled  under  foot,  or  ground  under 
wheel,  and  never  a  one  to  know  how  it  had  hap 
pened. 


4  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

An  instant,  and  she  was  back  again  in  her  old 
place  upon  the  curbstone.  Something  like  the 
firm  iron  grip  of  a  steam-derrick  had  fastened  on 
her  person,  hoisted  her  neatly  up,  and  set  her  as 
precisely  down,  exactly  where  she  had  started 
from. 

It  took  her  a  full  second  to  realize  what  had 
happened.  Then,  quick  as  a  flash,  anger  flamed 
up  in  her  pale  cheeks,  blazed  in  her  tired  eyes. 
For,  of  course,  this  was  an  instance  of  "  insult  " 
described  by  "  the  family  at  home  "  as  common  to 
the  experience  of  unprotected  girls  in  New  York 
City.  She  groped  about  in  her  mind  for  the 
formula  to  be  applied  in  such  cases,  as  recom 
mended  by  Aunt  Amelia.  "  Sir,  you  are  no  gen 
tleman  !  If  you  were  a  gentleman,  you  would  not 
offer  an  affront  to  a  young,  defenseless  girl 
who "  The  rest  eluded  her;  she  could  not  re 
call  it,  try  as  she  would.  In  desperate  resolve  to 
do  her  duty  anyway,  she  tilted  back  her  umbrella, 
whereat  a  fine  stream  of  water  poured  from  the 
tip  directly  over  her  upturned  face,  and  trickled 
cheerily  down  the  bridge  of  her  short  nose. 

"  Sir "  she  shouted  resolutely,  and  then  she 

stopped,  for,  plainly,  her  oration  was,  in  the 
premises,  a  misfit — the  person  beside  her — the  one 
of  the  mortal  effrontery  and  immortal  grip,  being 
a — woman.  A  woman  of  masculine  proportions, 
towering,  deep-chested,  large-limbed,  but  with  a 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  5 

face  which  belied  all  these,  for  in  it  her  sex  shone 
forth  in  a  motherliness  unmistakable,  as  if  the 
world  at  large  were  her  family,  and  it  was  her 
business  to  see  that  it  was  generously  provided 
for,  along  the  pleasantest  possible  lines  for  all  con 
cerned. 

"What  car?"  the  woman  trumpeted,  gazing 
down  serenely  into  Claire's  little  wet,  anxious,  up 
turned  face  at  her  elbow. 

"  Columbus  Avenue." 

The  stranger  nodded,  peering  down  the  glisten 
ing,  wet  way,  as  if  she  were  a  skipper  sighting  a 
ship. 

"My  car,  too!  First's  Lexin'ton — next 
Broadway — then — here's  ours  !  "  Again  that 
derrick-grip,  and  they  stood  in  the  heart  of  the 
maelstrom,  but  apparently  perfectly  safe,  unas 
sailable. 

"  They  won't  stop,"  Claire  wailed  plaintively. 
"  I've  been  waiting  for  ages.  The  car'll  go  by! 
You  see  if  it  won't!  " 

It  did,  indeed,  seem  on  the  point  of  sliding  past, 
as  all  the  rest  had  done,  but  of  a  sudden  the  mo- 
torman  vehemently  shut  off  his  power,  and  put  on 
his  brake.  By  some  hidden,  mysterious  force 
that  was  in  her,  or  the  mere  commanding  dimen 
sions  of  her  frame,  Claire's  companion  had 
brought  him  to  a  halt. 

She  lifted  her  charge  gently  up  on  to  the  step, 


5  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

pausing  herself,  before  she  should  mount  the 
platform,  to  close  the  girl's  umbrella. 

"Step  lively!  Step  lively!"  the  conductor 
urged  insistently,  reaching  for  his  signal-strap. 

The  retort  came  calmly,  deliberately,  but  with 
perfect  good  nature.  "  Not  on  your  life,  young 
man.  I  been  steppin'  lively  all  day,  an'  for  so 
long's  it's  goin'  to  take  this  car  to  get  to  One- 
hundred-an'-sixteenth  Street,  my  time  ain't  worth 
no  more'n  a  settin'  hen's." 

The  conductor  grinned  in  spite  of  himself. 
"  Well,  mine  is"  he  declared,  while  with  an 
authoritative  finger  he  indicated  the  box  into  which 
Claire  was  to  drop  her  fare. 

"  So  all  the  other  roosters  think,"  the  woman 
let  fall  with  a  tolerant  smile,  while  she  diligently 
searched  in  her  shabby  purse  for  five  cents. 

Claire,  in  the  doorway,  lingered. 

"Step  right  along  in,  my  dear!  Don't  wait 
for  me,"  her  friend  advised,  closing  her  teeth  on 
a  dime,  as  she  still  pursued  an  elusive  nickel. 
"  Step  right  along  in,  and  sit  down  anywheres, 
an'  if  there  ain't  nowheres  to  sit,  why,  just  take  a 
waltz-step  or  two  in  the  direction  o'  some  of  them 
elegant  gen'lemen's  feet,  occupyin'  the  places 
meant  for  ladies,  an'  if  they  don't  get  up  for 
love  of  you,  they'll  get  up  for  love  of  their 
shins." 

Still  the  girl  did  not  pass  on. 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  7 

"  Fare,  please!  "  There  was  a  decided  touch 
of  asperity  in  the  conductor's  tone.  He  glared 
at  Claire  almost  menacingly. 

Her  lip  trembled,  the  quick  tears  sprang  to  her 
eyes.  She  hesitated,  swallowed  hard,  and  then 
brought  it  out  with  a  piteous  gulp. 

"  I  had  my  fare — 'twas  in  my  glove.  It  must 
have  slipped  out.  It's  gone — lost — and " 

A  tug  at  the  signal-strap  was  the  conductor's 
only  comment.  He  was  stopping  the  car  to  put 
her  off,  but  before  he  could  carry  out  his  pur 
pose  the  woman  had  dropped  her  dime  into  the 
box  with  a  sounding  click. 

"  Fare  for  two!  "  she  said,  "  an'  if  I  had  time, 
an'  a  place  to  sit,  I'd  turn  you  over  acrost  my 
knee,  an'  give  you  two,  for  fair,  young  man,  for 
the  sake  of  your  mother  who  didn't  learn  you  bet 
ter  manners  when  you  was  a  boy !  "  With  which 
she  laid  a  kind  hand  upon  Claire's  heaving  shoul 
der,  and  impelled  her  gently  into  the  body  of  the 
car,  already  full  to  overflowing. 

For  a  few  moments  the  girl  had  a  hard  struggle 
to  control  her  rising  sobs,  but  happily  no  one  saw 
her  working  face  and  twitching  lips,  for  her  com 
panion  had  planted  herself  like  a  great  bulwark 
between  her  and  the  world,  shutting  her  off,  wall 
ing  her  'round.  Then,  suddenly,  she  found  her 
self  placed  in  a  hurriedly  vacated  seat,  from  which 
she  could  look  up  into  the  benevolent  face  inclined 


8  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

toward  her,  and  say,  without  too  much  danger  of 
breaking  down  in  the  effort: 

"  I  really  did  have  it — the  money,  you  know. 
Truly,  I'm  not  a " 

"  O,  pooh !  Don't  you  worry  your  head  over 
a  little  thing  like  that.  Such  accidents  is  liable 
to  occur  in  the  best-reggerlated  fam'lies.  They 
do  in  mine,  shoor!  " 

"  But,  you  see,"  quavered  the  uncertain  voice, 
"  I  haven't  any  more.  That's  all  I  had,  so  I  can't 
pay  you  back,  and " 

It  was  curious,  but  just  here  another  passenger 
hastily  rose,  vacating  the  seat  next  Claire's,  and 
leaving  it  free,  whereat  her  companion  compressed 
her  bulky  frame  into  it  with  a  sigh,  as  of  well- 
earned  rest,  and  remarked  comfortably,  "  Now  we 
can  talk.  You  was  sayin' — what  was  it?  About 
that  change,  you  know.  It  was  all  you  had.  You 
mean  by  you,  of  course." 

Claire's  pale,  pinched  face  flushed  hotly.  "  No, 
I  don't,"  she  confessed,  without  lifting  her  down 
cast  eyes. 

Her  companion  appeared  to  ponder  this  for  a 
moment,  then  quite  abruptly  she  let  it  drop. 

"  My  name's  Slawson,"  she  observed.  "  Mar 
tha  Slawson.  I  go  out  by  the  day.  Laundry- 
work,  housecleaning,  general  chores.  I  got  a 
husband  an'  four  children,  to  say  nothing  of  a 
mother-in-law  who  lives  with  us,  an'  keeps  an  eye 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  9 

on  things  while  me  an'  Sammy  (that's  Mr.  Slaw- 
son)  is  out  workin',  an'  lucky  if  it's  an  eye  itself, 
for  it's  not  a  hand,  I  can  tell  you  that.  What's 
your  name,  if  I  may  make  so  bold?  " 

"  Claire  Lang.  My  people  live  in  Grand 
Rapids — where  the  furniture  and  carpet-sweepers 
come  from,"  with  a  wistful,  faint  little  attempt 
at  a  smile.  "  My  father  was  judge  of  the  Su 
preme  Court,  but  he  had  losses,  and  then  he  died, 
and  there  wasn't  much  of  anything  left,  and 
so " 

"  You  come  to  New  York  to  make  your  ever- 
lastin'  fortune,  an'  you " 

Claire  Lang  shook  her  head,  completing  the 
unfinished  sentence.  "  No,  I  haven't  made  it, 
that  is,  not  yet.  But  I'm  not  discouraged.  I 
don't  mean  to  give  up.  Things  look  pretty  dark 
just  now,  but  I'm  not  going  to  let  that  discour 
age  me No,  indeed !  I'm  going  to  be  brave 

and  courageous,  and  never  say  die,  even  if — even 
if " 

"  Turn  'round,  an'  pertend  you're  lookin'  out 
of  the  winder,"  suggested  Mrs.  Slawson  con 
fidentially.  "  The  way  folks  stare,  you'd  think 
the  world  was  full  of  nothin'  but  laughin' 
hyeenyas.  Dontcher  care,  my  dear!  Well  for 
some  of  'em,  if  they  could  shed  an  honest  tear 
or  two  themselves,  oncet  in  a  while,  instead  of 
bein'  that  brazen;  'twouldn't  be  water  at  all,  but 


io  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

Putzes  Pomady  it'd  take  to  make  an  impression 
on  'em,  an'  don't  you  forget  it.  There !  That's 
right!  Now,  no  one  can  observe  what's  occurrin' 
in  your  face,  an'  I  can  talk  straight  into  your  ear, 
see?  What  I  was  goin'  to  say  is,  that  bein'  a 
mother  myself  an'  havin'  children  of  my  own  to 
look  out  for,  I  couldn't  recommend  any  lady,  let 
alone  one  so  young  an'  pretty  as  you,  to  take  up 
with  strangers,  here  in  New  York  City,  be  they 
male  or  be  they  female.  No,  certaintly  not !  But 
in  this  case,  you  can  take  it  from  me,  I'm  O.  K. 
I  can  give  the  highest  references.  I  worked  for 
the  best  fam'lies  in  this  town,  ever  since  I  was  a 
child.  You  needn't  be  a  mite  afraid.  I'm  just  a 
plain  mother  of  a  fam'ly  an',  believe  me,  you  can 
trust  me  as  you  would  trust  one  of  your  own 
relations,  though  I  do  say  it  as  shouldn't,  knowin' 
how  queer  own  relations  can  be  and  is,  when  put 
to  it  at  times.  So,  if  you  happen  to  be  in  a  hole, 
my  dear,  without  friends  or  such  things  in  the 
city,  you  feel  free  to  turn  to,  or  if  you  seem  to 
stand  in  need  of  a  word  of  advice,  or — anything 
else,  why,  dontcher  hesitate  a  minute.  It'd  be  a 
pretty  deep  hole  Martha  Slawson  couldn't  see 
over  the  edge  of,  be  sure  of  that,  even  if  she  did 
have  to  stand  on  her  toes  to  do  it.  Holes  is  my 
specialty,  havin'  been  in  an'  out,  as  you  might  say, 
all  my  life — particularly  in" 

Judicious  or  not,  Claire  told  her  story.     It  was 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  11 

not  a  long  one.  Just  the  everyday  experience  of 
a  young  girl  coming  to  a  strange  city,  without  in 
fluence,  friends,  or  money,  expecting  to  make  her 
way,  and  finding  that  way  beset  with  difficulties, 
blocked  by  obstacles. 

"  I've  done  everything  I  could  think  of,  hon 
estly  I  have,"  she  concluded  apologetically.  "  I 
began  by  trying  for  big  things;  art-work  in 
editorial  offices  (everybody  liked  my  art-work  in 
Grand  Rapids!).  But  'twas  no  use.  Then  I 
took  up  commercial  drawing.  I  got  what  looked 
like  a  good  job,  but  the  man  gave  me  one  week's 
pay,  and  that's  all  I  could  ever  collect,  though  I 
worked  for  him  over  a  month.  Then  I  tried 
real  estate.  One  firm  told  me  about  a  woman 
selling  for  them  who  cleared,  oh,  I  don't  know 
how-much-a-week,  in  commissions.  Something 
queer  must  be  the  matter  with  me,  I  guess,  for  I 
never  got  rid  of  a  single  lot,  though  I  walked  my 
feet  off.  I've  tried  writing  ads.,  and  I've  directed 
envelopes.  I've  read  the  Wants  columns,  till  it 
seems  as  if  everybody  in  the  world  was  looking 
for  a  job.  But  I  can't  get  anything  to  do.  I 
guess  God  doesn't  mean  me  to  die  of  starvation, 
for  you  wouldn't  believe  how  little  I've  had  to 
eat  all  summer  and  fall,  and  yet  I'm  almost  as 
strong  and  hearty  as  ever.  But  lately  I  haven't 
been  able  to  make  any  money  at  all,  not  five 
cents,  so  I  couldn't  pay  my  board,  and  they — 


12  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

they  told  me  at  the  house  where  I  live,  that  I'd 
have  to  square  up  to-night,  or  I  couldn't  keep  my 
room  any  longer.  They  took  my  trunk  a  week 
ago.  I  haven't  had  anything  to  wear  except  these 
clothes  I  have  on,  since,  and  they're  pretty  wet 
now — and — and — I've  nowhere  to  go,  and  it  is 
pouring  so  hard,  and  I  should  have  been  put  off 
the  car  if  you  hadn't " 

Mrs.  Slawson  checked  the  labored  flow  with  a 
hand  upon  the  girl's  knee.  '  Where  did  you  say 
your  boardin'-house  is?  "  she  inquired  abruptly. 

"  Ninety-fifth  Street  —  West  —  Two-hundred- 
and-eighty-five-and-a-half." 

"  Good  gracious!  An'  we're  only  three  blocks 
off  there  now!  " 

"  But  you  said,"  expostulated  Claire  help 
lessly,  feeling  herself  propelled  as  by  the  hand  of 
fate  through  the  crowd  toward  the  door.  '  You 
said  you  live  on  One-hundred-and-sixteenth 
Street." 

"  So  I  do,  my  dear,  so  I  do !  But  I've  got  some 
business  to  transack  with  a  lady  livin'  in  Ninety- 
fifth  Street — West — Two-hunderd-an'-eighty-five- 
an'-a-half.  Come  along.  '  Step  lively,'  as  my 
friend,  this  nice  young  man  out  here  on  the  rear 
platform,  says." 


CHAPTER  II 

THEY  plodded  along  the  flooded  street  in 
silence,  Claire  following  after  Martha 
Slawson  like  a  small  child,  almost  clutching  at  her 
skirts.  It  was  not  easy  to  keep  pace  with  the 
long,  even  strides  that  covered  so  much  ground, 
and  Claire  fell  into  a  steady  pony-trot  that  made 
her  breath  come  short  and  quick,  her  heart  beat 
fast.  She  dimly  wondered  what  was  going  to 
happen,  but  she  did  not  dare,  or  care,  to  ask. 
It  was  comfort  enough  just  to  feel  this  great  em 
bodiment  of  human  sympathy  and  strength  beside 
her,  to  know  she  was  no  longer  alone. 

Before  the  house  Martha  paused  a  moment. 

"  Now,  my  dear,  there  ain't  goin'  to  be  nothin' 
for  you  to  do  but  just  sit  tight,"  she  vouchsafed 
reassuringly.  "  Don't  you  start  to  butt  in  (if 
you'll  pardon  the  liberty) ,  no  matter  what  I  say. 
I'm  goin'  to  be  a  perfect  lady,  never  fear.  I  know 
my  place,  an'  I  know  my  dooty,  an'  if  your  board- 
in'-house  lady  knows  hers,  there'll  be  no  trouble 
whatsornedever,  so  dontcher  worry." 

She  descended  the  three  steps  leading  from  the 
street-level  down  into  the  little  paved  courtyard 
below,  and  rang  the  basement  bell.  A  moment 

13 


14  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

and  an  inner  door  was  unlocked,  flung  open,  and 
a  voice  from  just  within  the  grating  of  the  closed 
iron  area-gate  asked  curtly,  "  Well,  what's 
wanted?  " 

"  Is  this  Mrs. ?  I  should  say,  is  this  the 

lady  of  the  house?"  Martha  Slawson's  voice 
was  deep,  bland,  prepossessing. 

"  I'm  Mrs.  Daggett,  yes,  if  that's  what  you 
mean." 

"  That's  what  I  mean.  My  name's  Slawson. 
Mrs.  Sammy  Slawson,  an'  I  come  to  see  you  on 
a  little  matter  of  business  connected  with  a  young 
lady  who's  been  lodgin'  in  your  house — Miss 
Lang." 

Mrs.  Daggett  stepped  forward,  and  unlatched 
the  iron  gate.  "  Come  in,"  she  said,  in  a  changed 
voice,  endeavoring  to  infuse  into  her  acrid  man 
ner  the  grace  of  a  belated  hospitality. 

Claire,  completely  hidden  from  view  behind 
Martha  Slawson's  heroic  proportions,  followed 
in  her  wake  like  a  wee,  foreshortened  shadow  as, 
at  Mrs.  Daggett's  invitation,  Mrs.  Slawson  passed 
through  the  area  gateway  into  the  malodorous 
basement  hall,  and  so  to  the  dingy  dining-room 
beyond.  Here  a  group  of  grimy-clothed  tables 
seemed  to  have  alighted  in  sudden  confusion,  re 
minding  one  of  a  flock  of  pigeons  huddled  to 
gether  in  fear  of  the  vultures  soon  to  descend 
on  them  with  greedy,  all-devouring  appetites. 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  15 

"  We  can  just  as  well  talk  here  as  anywhere," 
announced  Mrs.  Daggett.  "  It's  quarter  of  an 
hour  before  dinnertime,  but  if  you'd  rather  go 
up  to  the  parlor  we  can." 

"  O,  dear,  no !  "  said  Martha  Slawson  suavely. 
"  Any  place  is  good  enough  for  me.  Don't 
trouble  yourself.  I'm  not  particular  where  I 
am."  Unbidden,  she  drew  out  a  chair  from  its 
place  beside  one  of  the  uninviting  tables,  and  sat 
down  on  it  deliberately.  It  creaked  beneath  her 
weight. 

"O — oh!  Miss  Lang!"  said  Mrs.  Daggett, 
surprised,  seeing  her  young  lodger  now,  for  the 
first  time. 

Martha  nodded.  "  Yes,  it's  Miss  Lang,  an'  I 
brought  her  with  me,  through  the  turrbl  storm, 
Mrs.— a ?" 

"  Daggett,"  supplied  the  owner  of  the  name 
promptly. 

"That's  right,  Daggett,"  repeated  Martha. 
"  I  brought  Miss  Lang  with  me,  Mrs.  Daggett, 
because  I  couldn't  believe  my  ears  when  she  told 
me  she  was  goin'  to  be — to  be  turned  out,  if  she 
didn't  pay  up  to-night,  weather  or  no.  I  wanted 
to  hear  the  real  truth  of  it  from  you,  ma'am, 
straight,  with  her  by." 

Mrs.  Daggett  coughed.  "  Well,  business  is 
business.  I'm  not  a  capitalist.  I'm  not  keeping 
a  boarding-house  for  my  health,  you  know.  I 


i6  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

can't  afford  to  give  credit  when  I  have  to  pay 
cash." 

"  But,  of  course,  you  don't  mean  you'd  ack- 
chelly  refuse  the  young  lady  shelter  a  night  like 
this,  if  she  come  to  you,  open  an'  honest,  an' 
said  she  hadn't  the  price  by  her  just  at  present, 
but  she  would  have  it  sooner  or  later,  an'  then 
you'd  be  squared  every  cent.  You  wouldn't  turn 
her  down  if  she  said  that,  would  you?  " 

"  Say,  Mrs.  Slawson,  or  whatever  your  name 
is,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Daggett  sharply,  "  I'm  not 
here  to  be  cross-questioned.  When  you  told  me 
you'd  come  on  business  for  Miss  Lang,  I  thought 
'twas  to  settle  what  she  owes.  If  it  ain't — I'm  a 
busy  woman.  I'm  needed  in  the  kitchen  this 
minute,  to  see  to  the  dishing-up.  Have  the  good 
ness  to  come  to  the  point.  Is  Miss  Lang  going 
to  pay?  If  she  is,  well  and  good.  She  can  keep 
her  room.  If  she  isn't "  The  accompany 
ing  gesture  was  eloquent. 

Mrs.  Slawson's  chair  gave  forth  another  whine 
of  reproach  as  she  settled  down  on  it  with  a  sort 
of  inflexible  determination  that  defied  argument. 

"So  that's  your  ultomato?"  she  inquired 
calmly.  "  I  understand  you  to  say  that  if  this 
young  lady  (who  any  one  with  a  blind  eye  can  see 
she's  quality),  I  understand  you  to  say,  that  if  she 
don't  pay  down  every  cent  she  owes  you,  here  an' 
now,  you'll  put  her  out,  bag  an'  baggage?  " 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  17 

"  No,  not  bag  and  baggage,  Mrs.  Slawson," 
interposed  the  boarding-house  keeper  with  a  wry 
smile,  bridling  with  the  sense  that  she  was  about 
to  say  something  she  considered  rather  neat,  "  I 
am,  as  you  might  say,  holding  her  bag  and  bag 
gage — as  security." 

"  Now  what  do  you  think  o'  that!  "  ejaculated 
Martha  Slawson. 

"  It's  quite  immaterial  to  me  what  anybody 
thinks  of  it,"  Mrs.  Daggett  snapped.  "And 
now,  if  that's  all  you've  got  to  suggest,  why,  I'm 
sure  it's  all  I  have,  and  so,  the  sooner  we  end 
this,  the  sooner  I'll  be  at  liberty  to  attend  to  my 
dinner." 

Still  Mrs.  Slawson  did  not  stir. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  you're  a  lady,"  she  ob 
served  without  the  faintest  suggestion  of  heat. 
"  I  suppose  you  think  you're  a  lady,  but  you 
certainly  ain't  workin'  at  it  now.  What  takes 
my  time,  though,  is  the  way  you  ackchelly  seem 
to  be  meanin'  what  you  say!  Why,  I  wouldn't 
turn  a  dog  out  a  night  like  this,  an'  you'd  let  a 
delicate  young  girl  go  into  the  drivin'  storm,  a 
stranger,  without  a  place  to  lay  her  head — that 
is,  for  all  you  know.  I  could  bet  my  life,  with 
out  knowin'  a  thing  about  it,  that  the  good  Lord 
never  let  you  have  a  daughter  of  your  own.  He 
wouldn't  trust  the  keepin'  of  a  child's  body,  not 
to  speak  of  her  soul,  to  such  as  you.  That  is, 


i8  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

He  wouldn't  if  He  could  help  Himself.  But, 
thanks  be !  Miss  Lang  ain't  dependent.  She's 
well  an'  able  to  pay  all  she  owes.  Supposin'  she 
has  been  kinder  strapped  for  a  little  while  back, 
an'  had  to  economize  by  comin'  to  such  a  place 
as  this !  I've  knowed  others,  compelled  to 
economize  with  three  trunks  alongside  a  hall- 
bedroom  wall,  for  a  while,  too,  an'  by  an'  by  their 
circumstances  was  such  that  they  had  money  to 
burn.  It's  not  for  the  likes  of  Miss  Lang  to 
try  to  transack  business  with  your  sort.  It  would 
soil  her  lips  to  bandy  words,  so  I,  an  old  fam'ly 
servant,  an'  proud  of  it!  am  settlin'  up  her  af 
fairs  for  her.  Be  kind  enough  to  say  how  much 
it  is  you  are  ready  to  sell  your  claim  to  Christian 
charity  for?  How  much  is  it  you  ain't  willin'  to 
lend  to  the  Lord  on  Miss  Lang's  account?  "  She 
plucked  up  her  skirts,  thrust  her  hand,  unembar 
rassed,  into  her  stocking-leg,  and  brought  forth 
from  that  safe  depository  a  roll  of  well-worn 
greenbacks. 

Mrs.  Daggett  named  the  amount  of  Claire's  in 
debtedness,  and  Martha  Slawson  proceeded 
to  count  it  out  in  slow,  deliberate  syllables. 
She  did  not,  however,  surrender  the  bills  at 
once. 

"  I'll  take  a  receipt,"  she  quietly  observed,  and 
then  sat  back  with  an  air  of  perfect  imperturbabil 
ity,  while  the  boarding-house  keeper  nervously 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  19 

fussed  about,  searching  for  a  scrap  of  paper,  hunt 
ing  for  a  pen,  trying  to  unearth,  from  the  most 
impossible  hiding-places,  a  bottle  of  ink,  her  in 
dignation  at  Martha's  cheek  escaping  her  in 
audible  mumblings. 

"  Impudence !  What  right  have  you  to  come 
here,  holding  me  to  account?  I've  my  own  way 
of  doing  good " 

Mrs.  Slawson  shrugged.  "Your  own  way? 
I  warrant  you  have !  Nobody  else'd  reconize  it. 
I'd  like  to  bet,  you  don't  give  a  penny  to  charity 
oncet  in  five  years.  Come  now,  do  you?  " 

"  God  doesn't  take  into  account  the  amount 
one  gives,"  announced  Mrs.  Daggett  authorita 
tively. 

"  P'raps  not,  but  you  can  take  it  from  me,  He 
keeps  a  pretty  close  watch  on  what  we  have  left — 
or  I  miss  my  guess.  An'  now,  Miss  Claire 
darlin',  if  you'll  go  an'  get  what  belongin's  you 
have,  that  this  generous  lady  ain't  stripped  off'n 
you,  to  hold  for  security,  as  she  calls  it,  we'll  be 
goin'.  An  expressman  will  be  'round  here  the 
first  thing  in  the  mornin'  for  Miss  Lang's  trunk, 
an'  it's  up  to  you,  Mrs.  Daggett,  to  see  it's  ready 
for'm  when  he  comes.  Good-night  to  you, 
ma'am,  an'  I  wish  you  luck." 

Never  after  could  Claire  recall  in  detail  what 
followed.  She  had  a  dim  vision  of  glistening 
pavements  on  which  the  rain  dashed  furiously, 


20  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

only  to  rebound  with  resentful  force,  saturating 
one  to  the  skin.  Of  fierce  blasts  that  seemed  to 
lurk  around  every  corner.  Of  street-lamps 
gleaming  meaninglessly  out  of  the  murk,  curi 
ously  suggesting  blinking  eyes  set  in  a  vacant 
face,  and  at  last — at  last — in  blessed  contrast — 
an  open  door,  the  sound  of  cheery  voices,  the  feel 
of  warmth  and  welcome,  the  sight  of  a  plain, 
wholesome  haven — rest. 

Martha  Slawson  checked  her  children's  vocifer 
ous  clamor  with  a  word.  Then  her  orders  fell 
thick  and  fast,  causing  feet  to  run  and  hands  to 
fly,  causing  curiosity  to  give  instant  way  before 
the  pressure  of  busy-ness,  and  a  sense  of  co 
operation  to  make  genial  the  task  of  each. 

"Hush,  everybody!  Cora,  you  go  make  up 
the  bed  in  the  boarder's  room.  Turn  the  mat 
tress,  mind!  An'  stretch  the  sheets  good  an' 
smooth,  like  I  learned  you  to  do.  Francie,  you 
get  the  hot-water  bottle,  quick,  so's  I  can  fill  it! 
Sammy,  you  go  down  to  the  cellar,  an'  tell  Mr. 
Snyder  your  mother  will  be  much  obliged  if  he'll 
turn  on  a'  extra  spark  o'  steam-heat.  Tell'm, 
Mrs.  Slawson  has  a  lady  come  to  board  with  her 
for  a  spell,  that's  fixin'  for  chills  or  somethin',  on- 
less  she  can  be  kep'  warm  an'  comfortable,  an' 
the  radianator  in  the  boarder's  room  don't  send 
out  much  heat  to  speak  of.  Talk  up  polite, 
Sammy;  d'you  hear  me?  An'  be  sure  you  don't 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  21 

let  on  Snyder  might  be  keepin'  a  better  fire  in  his 
furnace  if  he  didn't  begrutch  the  coal  so.  It's 
gospel  truth,  o'  course,  but  landlords  is  supposed 
to  have  feelin's,  same  as  the  rest  of  us,  an'  a 
gentle  word  turneth  aside  wrath.  Sabina,  now 
show  what  a  big  girl  you  are,  an'  fetch  mother 
Cora's  nicest  nightie  out  o'  the  drawer  in  my 
beaurer — the  nightie  Mrs.  Granville  sent  Cora 
last  Christmas.  Mother  wants  to  hang  it  in  front 
of  the  kitchen-range,  so's  the  pretty  lady  can  go 
by-bye  all  warm  an'  comfy,  after  she's  took  her 
supper  off'n  the  tray,  like  Sabina  did  when  she 
had  the  measles." 

Huge  Sam  Slawson,  senior,  overtopping  his 
wife  by  fully  half  a  head,  gazed  down  upon  his 
little  hive,  from  shaggy-browed,  benevolent  eyes. 
He  uttered  no  complaint  because  his  dinner  was 
delayed,  and  he,  hungry  as  a  bear,  was  made  to 
wait  till  a  stranger  was  served  and  fed.  Instead, 
he  wandered  over  to  where  Martha  was  supple 
menting  "  Ma's  "  ministrations  at  the  range,  and 
patted  her  approvingly  on  the  shoulder. 

"Another  stray  lamb,  mother?"  he  asked 
casually. 

Martha  nodded.  "  Wait  till  the  rush  is  over, 
an'  the  young  uns  abed  an'  asleep,  an'  I'll  tell  you 
all  about  it.  Stray  lamb  !  I  should  say  as  much ! 
A  little  white  corset-lamb,  used  to  eat  out  o'  your 
hand,  with  a  blue  ribbon  round  its  neck.  Coin'  to 


22  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

be  sent  out  to  her  death — or  worse,  by  a  sharp- 
fangled  wolf  of  a  boardin'-house  keeper,  who'd 
gnaw  the  skin  off'n  your  bones,  an'  then  crack  the 
bones  to  get  at  the  marrer,  if  you  give  her  the 
chanct.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  later,  Sammy." 


CHAPTER  III 

FOR  days  Claire  lay  in  a  state  of  drowsy 
quiet. 

She  hardly  realized  the  fact  of  her  changed 
condition,  that  she  was  being  cared  for,  ministered 
to,  looked  after.  She  had  brief,  waking  moments 
when  she  seemed  to  be  aware  that  Martha  was 
bringing  in  her  breakfast,  or  sitting  beside  her 
while  she  ate  her  dinner,  but  the  intervening 
spaces,  when  "  Ma  "  or  Cora  served,  were  dim, 
indistinct  adumbrations  of  no  more  substantial 
quality  than  the  vagrant  dreams  that  ranged 
mistily  across  her  relaxed  brain. 

The  thin  walls  of  the  cheaply-built  flat  did  not 
protect  her  from  the  noise  of  the  children's 
prattling  tongues  and  boisterous  laughter,  but  the 
walls  of  her  consciousness  closed  her  about,  as  in 
a  muffled  security,  and  she  slept  on  and  on,  until 
the  exhausted  body  was  reinforced,  the  overtaxed 
nerves  infused  with  new  strength. 

Then,  one  evening,  when  the  room  in  which 
she  lay  was  dusky  with  twilight  shadows,  she 
realized  that  she  was  awake,  that  she  was  alive. 
She  had  gradually  groped  her  way  through  the 
dim  stretches  lying  between  the  region  of  visions 

23 


24  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

and  that  of  the  actual,  but  the  step  into  a  full  sense 
of  reality  was  abrupt.  She  heard  the  sound  of 
children's  voices  in  the  next  room.  So  clear  they 
were,  she  could  distinguish  every  syllable. 

"Say,  now,  listen,  mother!  What  do  you  do 
when  you  go  out  working  every  day?  "  It  was 
Cora  speaking. 

"  I  work." 

"  Pooh,  you  know  what  I  mean.  What  kinder 
work  do  you  do?  " 

For  a  moment  there  was  no  answer,  then  Claire 
recognized  Martha's  voice,  with  what  was,  un 
deniably,  a  chuckle  tucked  away  in  its  mellow 
depths,  where  no  mere,  literal  child  would  be  apt 
to  discern  it. 

"  Stenography  an'  typewritin' !  " 

"  Are  you  a  stenographer  an'  typewriter, 
mother?  Honest?" 

"  Well,  you  can  take  it  from  me,  if  I  was  it  at 
all,  I'd  be  it  honest.  What  makes  you  think 
there's  any  doubt  o'  my  being  one?  Don't  I  have 
the  appearance  of  a  high-toned  young  lady  stenog 
rapher  an'  typewriter?  " 

A  pause,  in  which  Martha's  substantial  steps 
were  to  be  heard  busily  passing  to  and  fro,  as  she 
went  about  her  work.  Her  mother's  reply  evi 
dently  did  not  carry  conviction  to  Cora's  ques 
tioning  mind,  for  a  second  later  she  was  up  and 
at  it  afresh. 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  25 

"  Say,  now,  listen,  mother — if  you  do  stenog 
raphy  an'  typewriting  what  makes  your  apron  so 
wet  an'  dirty,  nights  when  you  come  home?  " 

"  Don't  you  s'pose  I  clean  my  machine  before 
I  leave?  What  kinder  typewriter  d'you  think  I 
am?  To  leave  my  machine  dirty,  when  a  good 
scrubdown,  with  a  pail  o'  hot  water,  an'  a  stiff 
brush,  an'  Sapolio,  would  put  it  in  fine  shape  for 
the  next  mornin'." 

"  Mother — say,  now,  listen !  I  don't  believe 
that's  the  way  they  clean  typewriters.  Miss 
Symonds,  she's  the  Principal's  seckerterry  to  our 
school,  an'  she  sits  in  the  office,  she  cleans  her 
machine  with  oil  and  a  little  fine  brush,  like  you 
clean  your  teeth  with." 

"  What  you  been  doin'  in  the  Principal's  office, 
miss,  I  should  like  to  know?  Been  sent  up  to 
her  for  bad  behavior,  or  not  knowin'  your  lessons? 
Speak  up  now!  Quick!  " 

"  My  teacher,  she  sends  me  on  errands,  an'  I 
got  a  credit-card  last  week  an',  say,  mother,  I 
don't  believe  you're  a  young  lady  stenographer 
an'  typewriter.  You're  just  trying  to  fool 
me." 

"  Well,  Miss  Smarty,  supposin'  I  am.  So 
long's  I  don't  succeed  you've  no  kick  comin'." 

"  Say,  now  listen,  mother." 

"Hush!  You'll  wake  the  pretty  lady.  Be 
sides,  too  many  questions  before  dinner  is  apt  to 


26  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

spoil  the  appetite,  to  say  nothin'  of  the  temper. 
Turn  to,  an'  lend  a  hand  with  them  potatoes. 
Smash  'em  good  first,  an'  then  beat  'em  with  a 
fork  until  they're  light  an'  creamy,  an'  you  won't 
have  so  much  gimp  left  for  snoopin'  into  things 
that  don't  concern  you !  " 

"  Say,  now  listen,  mother !  " 

"Well?" 

"  Say,  mother,  something  awful  funny  hap 
pened  to  me  last  night?  " 

"  Are  you  tellin'  what  it  was?  " 

"  Something  woke  me  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  'n'  I  got  up  out  of  bed,  an'  the  clock  struck 
four,  'n'  then  I  knew  it  was  mornin'.  'N'  I  heard 
a  noise,  'n'  I  thought  it  was  robbers,  'n'  I  went 
to  the  door,  'n'  it  was  open,  'n'  I  went  out  into 
the  hall,  'n' " 

"Well?" 

"  An'  there  was  you,  mother,  on  the  stairs — 
kneelin' !  " 

"  Guess  you  had  a  dream,  didn't  you?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't." 

"  What'd  I  be  kneelin'  on  the  stairs  for,  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  mornin',  I  should  like  to  know?  " 

"  It  looked  like  you  was  brushin'  'em  down." 

"  Me  brushin'  down  Snyder's  stairs !  Well, 
now  what  do  you  think  o'  that?  "  Her  tone  of 
amazement,  at  the  mere  possibility,  struck  Cora, 
and  there  was  a  pause,  broken  at  length  by 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  27 

Martha,  in  a  preternaturally  solemn  voice.  "  I 
s'pose  you  never  tumbled  to  it  I  might  be  prayin'." 

Cora's  eyes  grew  wide.  "  Prayin' !  "  she  re 
peated  in  an  awed  whisper.  "  But,  mother, 
what'd  you  want  to  go  out  in  the  hall  for,  to  pray 
on  the  stairs,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  mornin'  ?  " 

"  Prayin'  is  a  godly  ack.  Wheresomedever, 
an'  whensomedever  you  do  it." 

"  But,  mother,  I  don't  believe  you  were  prayin'. 
I  heard  the  knockin'  o'  your  whis'-broom.  You 
was  brushin'  down  the  stairs." 

"  Well,  what  if  I  was?  Cleanliness  is  next  to 
godliness,  ain't  it?  Prayin'  an'  cleanin',  it 
amounts  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end — it's  just  a 
question  of  what  you  clean,  outside  you  or  in." 

"  But  say,  now,  listen,  mother,  you  never 
cleaned  down  Mr.  Snyder's  stairs  before.  An' 
you  been  making  shirtwaists  for  Mrs.  Snyder, 
after  you  get  home  nights.  I  saw  her  with  one  of 
'em  on." 

"  Cora,  do  you  know  what  happened  to  a  little 
girl  oncet  who  asked  too  many  questions?  " 

"No." 

"  Well,  I  won't  tell  you  now.  It  might  spoil 
your  appetite  for  dinner.  But  you  can  take  it 
from  me,  the  end  she  met  with  would  surprise 
you." 

Shortly  after,  Claire's  door  quietly  opened,  and 
Cora,  with  a  lighted  taper  in  her  hand,  tiptoed 


28  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

cautiously  in,  like  a  young  torch-bearing  avani* 
courriere,  behind  whom  Mrs.  Slawson,  laden  with 
a  wonderful  tray,  advanced  processionally. 

"  Light  the  changelier,  an'  then  turn  it  low," 
Martha  whispered.  "  An'  then  you,  yourself, 
light  out,  so's  the  pretty  lady  can  eat  in  comfort." 

The  pretty  lady,  sitting  up  among  her  pil 
lows,  awake  and  alert,  almost  brought  disaster 
upon  the  taper,  and  the  tray,  by  exclaiming 
brightly,  "Good-evening!  I'm  wide  awake  for 
good!  You  needn't  tiptoe  or  hush  any  more. 
O,  I  feel  like  new !  All  rested  and  well  and— 
ready  again.  And  I  owe  it,  every  bit,  to  you ! 
You've  been  so  good  to  me !  " 

It  was  hard  on  Cora  to  have  to  obey  her 
mother's  injunction  to  "  clear  out,"  just  when  the 
pretty  lady  was  beginning  to  demonstrate  her 
right  to  the  title.  But  Martha's  word  in  her  lit 
tle  household  was  not  to  be  disputed  with  im 
punity,  and  Cora  slipped  away  reluctantly,  carry 
ing  with  her  a  dazzling  vision  of  soft,  dark  hair, 
starry  blue-gray  eyes,  wonderful  changing  ex 
pressions,  and,  in  and  over  all,  a  smile  that  was 
like  a  key  to  unlock  hearts. 

"  My,  but  it's  good  to  see  you  so !  "  said  Mrs. 
Slawson  heartily.  "  I  was  glad  to  have  you  sleep, 
for  goodness  knows  you  needed  it,  but  if  you'd  'a' 
kep'  it  up  a  day  or  so  longer,  I'd  'a'  called  in  a 
doctor — shoor!  Just  as  a  kind  of  nacherl  per- 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  29 

caution,  against  your  settlin'  down  to  a  permanent 
sleepin'-beauty  ack,  for,  you  can  take  it  from  me, 
I  haven't  the  business  address  of  any  Beast,  here 
in  New  York  City,  could  be  counted  on  to  do  the 
Prince-turn,  when  needed.  There's  plenty  of 
beasts,  worse  luck!  but  they're  on  the  job,  for 
fair.  No  magic,  lightenin'-change  about  them. 
They  stay  beasts  straight  through  the  per 
formance." 

Claire  laughed. 

"  But,  as  it  happened,  I  didn't  need  a  Prince, 
did  I?  I  didn't  need  a  Prince  or  any  one  else,  for 

I  had  a  good  fairy  godmother  who O,  Mrs. 

Slawson,  I — I — can't " 

"  You  don't  have  to.  An'  I'm  not  Mrs.  Slaw- 
son  to  you.  I'm  just  Martha,  for  I  feel  like  you 
was  my  own  young  lady,  an'  if  you  call  me  Mrs. 
Slawson,  I  won't  feel  so,  an'  here — now — see  if 
you  can  clear  up  this  tray  so  clean  it'll  seem  silly 
to  wash  the  dishes." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence  in  the  little 
room,  while  Claire  tried  to  compose  herself,  and 
Martha  pretended  to  be  busy  with  the  tray. 
Then  Claire  said,  "  I'll  be  very  glad  to  call  you 
Martha  if  you'll  let  me,  and  there's  something  I'd 
like  to  say  right  off,  because  I've  been  lying  here 
quite  a  while  thinking  about  it,  and  it's  very  im 
portant,  indeed.  It's  about  my  future,  and " 

"  You'll  excuse  my  interruckting,  but  before  you 


30  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

reely  get  your  steam  up,  let  me  have  a  word  on  my 
own  account,  an'  then,  if  you  want  to,  you  can  fire 
away — the  gun's  your  own.  What  I  mean  is — I 
don't  believe  in  lyin'  awake,  thinkin'  about  the 
future,  when  a  body  can  put  in  good  licks  o'  sleep, 
restin'  from  the  past.  It's  against  my  principles. 
I'm  by  the  day.  I  work  by  the  day,  an'  I  live 
by  the  day.  I  reasoned  it  out  so-fashion:  the 
past  is  over  an'  done  with,  whatever  it  may  be, 
an'  you  can't  change  it,  for  all  you  can  do,  so 
what's  the  use?  You  can  bet  on  one  thing,  shoor, 
whatever  ain't  dead  waste  in  your  past  is,  some 
how,  goin'  to  get  dished  up  to  you  in  your  present, 
or  your  future.  You  ain't  goin'  to  get  rid  of  it, 
till  you've  worked  it  into  your  system  for  health, 
as  our  dear  old  friend,  Lydia  Pinkham,  says.  As 
to  the  future,  the  future's  like  a  flea — when  you 
can  put  your  finger  on  the  future,  it's  time  enough 
to  think  what  you'll  do  with  it.  Folkes  futures  'd 
be  all  right,  if  they'd  just  pin  down  a  little  tighter 
to  to-day,  an'  make  that  square  up,  the  best  they 
can,  with  what  they'd  oughter  do.  Now,  as  to  your 
future,  there's  nothin'  to  fret  about  for  a  minute 
in  it.  Jus'  now,  you're  here,  safe  an'  sound,  an' 
here  you're  goin'  to  stay  until  you're  well  an' 
strong  an'  fed  up,  an'  the  chill  o'  Mrs.  Daggett  is 
out  o'  your  body  an'  soul.  You  can  take  it  from 
me,  that  woman  is  worse  than  any  line-storm  / 
ever  struck  for  dampenin'-down  purposes,  an' 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  31 

freeze-out,  an'  generl  cussedness.  Your  business 
to-day — now — is  to  get  well  an'  strong.  Then 
the  future'll  take  care  of  itself." 

"  But  meanwhile,"  Claire  persisted,  "  I'm  liv 
ing  on  you.  Eating  food  for  which  I  haven't  the 
money  to  pay,  having  loving  care  for  which  I 
couldn't  pay,  if  I  had  all  the  money  in  the  world. 
I  guess  I  know  how  you  settled  my  account  with 
Mrs.  Daggett.  You  gave  her  money  you  had 
been  saving  for  the  rent,  and  now  you  are  work 
ing,  slaving  overtime,  at  four  o'clock  mornings, 
sweeping  down  the  stairs,  and  late  nights,  making 
shirtwaists  for  Mrs.  Snyder,  to  help  supply  what's 
lacking." 

"  Just  you  wait  till  I  see  that  Cora,"  observed 
Mrs.  Slawson  irrelevantly.  "  That's  the  time  her 
past  will  have  slopped  over  on  her  present,  so's 
she  can't  tell  which  is  which.  Just  you  wait  till  I 
see  that  Cora !  " 

"  No,  no — please!  Martha  dear!  It  wasn't 
Cora !  She's  not  to  blame.  I'd  have  known 
sooner  or  later  anyway.  I  always  reason  things  out 
for  myself.  Please  promise  not  to  scold  Cora." 

"  Scold  Cora?  Not  on  your  life,  my  dear;  I 
won't  scold  Cora.  I'm  old-fashioned  in  my  ways 
with  childern.  I  don't  believe  in  scoldin'.  It 
spoils  their  tempers,  but  a  good  lickin'  oncet  in  a 
while,  helps  'em  to  remember,  besides  bein'  good 
for  the  circulation." 


32  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

Claire  was  ready  to  cry.  "  It's  all  my  fault," 
she  lamented.  "  I  was  clumsy.  I  was  tactless. 
And  now  Cora  will  be  punished  for  it,  and — I 
make  nothing  but  trouble  for  you  all." 

"  There,  there !  For  mercy  sake,  don't  take 
on  like  that.  I  promise  I'll  let  Cora  go  free,  if 
you'll  sit  back  quiet  an'  eat  your  dinner  in  peace. 
So  now!  That's  better!  " 

"  What  I  was  going  to  say,  Martha  dear,  is, 
I'm  quite  well  and  strong  now,  and  I  want  to  set 
about  immediately  looking  for  something  to  do. 
I  ought  to  be  able  to  support  myself,  you  know, 
for  I'm  able-bodied,  and  not  so  stupid  but  that  I 
managed  to  graduate  from  college.  Once,  two 
summers  ago,  I  tutored — I  taught  a  young  girl 
who  was  studying  to  take  the  Wellesley  entrance 
exams.  And  I  coached  her  so  well  she  went 
through  without  a  condition,  and  she  wasn't  very 
quick,  either.  I  wonder  if  I  couldn't  teach?  " 

"  Shoor,  you  could!  " 

"  If  I  could  get  a  position  to  teach  in  some 
school  or  some  family,  I  could,  maybe,  live  here 
with  you — rent  this  room — unless  you  have  some 
other  use  for  it." 

"  Lord,  no !  I  call  it  the  boarder's  room  be 
cause  this  flat  is  really  too  rich  for  my  blood,  but 
you  see  I  don't  want  the  childern  brought  up  in  a 
bad  neighborhood  with  low  companions.  Well, 
Sammy  argued  the  rent  was  too  high,  till  I  told'm 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  33 

we'd  let  a  room  an'  make  it  up  that  way,  but  what 
with  this,  an'  what  with  that,  we  ain't  had  any 
boarders  exceptin'  now  an'  then  some  friend  of 
himself  out  of  a  job,  or  one  o'  the  girls,  livin'  out 
in  the  houses  where  I  work,  gettin'  bounced  sud- 
dent,  an'  in  want  of  a  bed,  an'  none  of  'em  ever 
paid  us  a  cent  or  was  asked  for  it." 

"  Well,  if  I  could  get  a  position  as  teacher  or 
governess,  I'd  soon  be  able  to  pay  back  what 

you've  laid  out  for  me,  and  more  besides,  and 

In  the  houses  where  you  work,  are  there  any  chil 
dren  who  need  a  governess?  Any  young  girls 
who  need  a  tutor?  That's  what  I  wanted  to  ask 
you,  Martha." 

Mrs.  Slawson  deliberated  in  silence  for  a  mo 
ment. 

"  There's  the  Livingstons,"  she  mused,  "  but 
they  ain't  any  childern.  Only  a  childish  brother- 
in-law.  He's  not  quite  all  there,  as  you  might  say. 
It'd  be  no  use  tryin'  to  learn  him  nothin',  seein' 
he's  so  odd — seventy-odd — an'  his  habits  like  to 
be  fixed.  Then,  there's  the  Farrands.  But  the 
girls  goes  to  Miss  Spenny's  school,  an'  the  son's 
at  Columbia.  It  might  upset  their  plans,  if  I 
was  to  suggest  their  givin'  up  where  they're  at, 
an'  havin'  you.  Then  there's  the  Grays,  an'  the 
Granvilles,  an'  the  Thornes.  Addin'  'em  all  to 
gether  for  childern,  they'd  come  to  about  half  a 
child  a  pair.  Talk  about  your  race  suicide !  They 


34  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

say  they  '  can't  afford  to  have  childern.'  You 
can  take  it  from  me,  it's  the  poor  people  are  rich 
nowadays.  We  can  afford  to  have  childern,  all 

right,  all  right.  Then  there's  Mrs.  Sherman 

She's  got  one  boy,  but  he — Radcliffe  Sherman — 
well,  he's  a  limb !  A  reg'lar  young  villain.  You 
couldn't  manage  him.  Only  Lord  Ronald  can 
manage  Radcliffe  Sherman,  an'  he " 

"  Lord  Ronald?  "  questioned  Claire,  when  Mrs. 
Slawson's  meditation  threatened  to  become  static. 

"Why,  he's  Mrs.  Sherman's  brother,  Mr. 
Frank  Ronald,  an'  no  real  lord  could  be  hand- 
somer-lookin',  or  grander-behavin',  or  richer  than 
him.  Mrs.  Sherman  is  a  widder,  or  a  divorcy,  or 
somethin'  stylish  like  that.  Anyhow,  I  worked 
for  her  this  eight  years  an'  more — almost  ever 
since  Radcliffe  was  born,  an'  I  ain't  seen  hide  nor 
hair  o'  any  Mr.  Sherman  yet,  an'  they  never  speak 
o'  him,  so  I  guess  he  was  either  too  good  or  too 
bad  to  mention.  Mr.  Frank  an'  his  mother  lives 
with  Mrs.  Sherman,  an'  what  Mr.  Frank  says 
goes.  His  word  is  law.  She  thinks  the  world 
of'm,  an'  well  she  may,  for  he's  a  thorerbred. 
The  way  he  treats  me,  for  instants.  You'd  think 
I  was  the  grandest  lady  in  the  land.  He  never 
sees  me  but  it's,  '  How  d'do,  Martha?  '  or, 'How's 
the  childern  an'  Mr.  Slawson  these  days?'  He 
•certainly  has  got  grand  ways  with'm,  Mr.  Frank 
has.  An'  yet,  he's  never  free.  You  wouldn't 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  35 

dare  make  bold  with'm.  His  eyes  has  a  sort  o' 
keep-of-the-grass  look  gener'ly,  but  when  he 
smiles  down  ut  you,  friendly-like,  why,  you 
wouldn't  call  the  queen  your  cousin.  Radcliffe 
knows  he  can't  monkey  with  his  uncle  Frank,  an' 
when  he's  by,  butter  wouldn't  melt  in  that  young 
un's  mouth.  But  other  times — my !  You  see, 
Mrs.  Sherman  is  dead  easy.  She  told  me  oncet, 
childern  ought  to  be  brought  up  '  scientifically.' 
Lord!  She  said  they'd  ought  to  be  let  express 
their  souls,  whatever  she  means  by  that.  I  told 
her  I  thought  it  was  safer  not  to  trust  too  much 
to  the  childern's  souls,  but  to  help  along  some 
occasional  with  your  own — the  sole  of  your  slip 
per.  It  was  then  she  said  she  '  abserlootly  for 
bid  '  any  one  to  touch  Radcliffe.  She  wanted  him 
'  guided  by  love  alone.'  Well,  that's  what  he's 
been  guided  with,  an',  you  can  take  it  from  me, 
love's  made  a  hash  of  it,  as  it  ushally  does  when  it 
ain't  mixed  with  a  little  common  sense.  You'd 
oughta  see  that  fella's  anticks  when  his  mother, 
an'  Lord  Ronald,  ain't  by.  He'd  raise  the  hair 
offn  your  head,  if  you  hadn't  a  spear  of  it  there 
to  begin  with.  He  speaks  to  the  help  as  if  they 
was  dirt  under  his  feet,  an'  he'd  as  lief  lie  as 
look  at  you,  an'  always  up  to  some  new  devilment. 
It'd  take  your  time  to  think  fast  enough  to  keep 
up  with'm.  But  he  ain't  all  bad — I  don't  believe 
no  child  is,  not  on  your  life,  an'  my  idea  is,  he'd 


36  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

turn  out  O.  K.  if  only  he'd  the  right  sort  o' 
handlin'.  Mr.  Frank  could  do  it — but  when 
Lord  Ronald  is  by,  Radcliffe  is  a  pet  lamb — a  lit 
tle  woolly  wonder.  You  ast  me  why  I  call  Mr. 
Frank  Lord  Ronald.  I  never  thought  of  it  till 
one  time  when  Cora  said  a  piece  at  a  Sund'-School 
ent'tainment.  I  can't  tell  you  what  the  piece  was, 
for,  to  be  perfectly  honest,  I  was  too  took  up,  at 
the  time,  watchin'  Cora's  stockin',  which  was 
comin'  down,  right  before  the  whole  churchful. 
It  reely  didn't,  but  I  seen  the  garter  hangin',  an' 
I  thought  it  would,  any  minute.  I  remember  it 
was  somethin'  about  a  fella  called  Lord  Ronald, 
who  was  a  reel  thorerbred,  just  like  Mr.  Frank 
is.  I  recklect  one  of  the  verses  went : 

"  '  Lord  Ronald  had  the  lily-white  dough ' 


(to  my  way  o'  thinkin'  it's  no  matter  about  the 
color,  white  or  gold  or  just  plain,  green  paper- 
money,  so  long's  you've  got  it),  anyhow,  that's 
what  it  said  in  the  piece — 

"  '  Lord  Ronald  had  the  lily-white  dough, 
Which  he  gave  to  his  cousin,  Lady  Clare.' 

Say,  wasn't  he  generous? — 'give  to  his  cousin — 
Lady  Clare  ' — an' — good  gracious !  O,  excuse 
me  !  I  didn't  mean  to  jolt  your  tray  like  that,  but 
I  just  couldn't  help  flyin'  up,  for  I  got  an  idea ! 
True  as  you  live,  I  got  an  idea !  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

IT  did  not  take  long,  once  Claire  was  fairly 
on  her  feet  again,  to  adjust  herself  to  her  new 
surroundings,  to  find  her  place  and  part  in  the 
social  economy  of  the  little  family-group  where 
she  was  never  for  a  moment  made  to  feel  an 
alien.  She  appropriated  a  share  in  the  work  of 
the  household  at  once,  insisting,  to  Martha's  dis 
may,  upon  lending  a  hand  mornings  with  the  older 
children,  who  were  to  be  got  off  to  school,  and 
with  the  three-year-old  Sabina,  who  was  to  stay  at 
home.  She  assisted  with  the  breakfast  prepara 
tions,  and  then,  when  the  busy  swarm  had  flown 
for  the  day,  she  "  turned  to,"  to  Ma's  delight, 
and  got  the  place  "  rid  up  "  so  it  was  "  clean  as 
a  whistle  an'  neat  as  a  pin." 

Ma  was  not  what  Martha  approvingly  called 
"  a  hustler." 

"  Ma  ain't  thorer,"  her  daughter-in-law  con 
fided  to  Claire,  without  reproach.  "  She  means 
well,  but,  as  she  says,  her  mind  ain't  fixed  on 
things  below,  an'  when  that's  the  case,  the  dirt  is 
bound  to  settle.  Ma  thinks  you  can  run  a  fam'ly, 
readin'  the  Bible  an'  singin'  hymns.  Well,  p'raps 
you  can,  only  I  ain't  never  dared  try.  When  I 

37 


38  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

married  Sammy  he  looked  dretful  peaky,  the  fack 
bein'  he  hadn't  never  been  properly  fed,  an'  it's 
took  me  all  of  the  goin'-on  fifteen  years  now,  we 
been  livin'  together,  to  get'm  filled  up  accordin' 
to  his  appetite,  which  is  heavy.  You  see,  Ma 
never  had  any  time  to  attend  to  such  earthly 
matters  as  cookin'  a  square  meal — but  she's 
settin'  out  to  have  a  lot  of  leisure  with  the 
Lord." 

As  for  Ma,  she  found  it  pleasant  to  watch,  from 
a  comfortable  distance,  the  work  progressing 
satisfactorily,  without  any  draft  on  her  own 
energies. 

"  Martha's  a  good  woman,  miss,"  she  observed 
judicially,  in  her  detached  manner,  "  but  she  is  like 
the  lady  of  her  name  we  read  about  in  the  blessed 
Book.  When  /  set  out  in  life,  I  chose  the 
betther  part,  an'  now  I'm  old,  I  have  the  faith  to 
believe  I'll  have  a  front  seat  in  heaven.  I've 
knew  throuble  in  me  day.  I  raised  ten  childern, 
an'  I  had  three  felons,  an'  God  knows  I  think  I 
earned  a  front  seat  in  heaven." 

Claire's  pause,  before  she  spoke,  seemed  to  Ma 
to  indicate  she  was  giving  the  subject  the  weighty 
consideration  it  deserved. 

"  According  to  that,  it  would  certainly  seem 
so.  You  have  rheumatism,  too,  haven't  you?" 
as  if  that  might  be  regarded  as  an  added  guarantee 
of  special  celestial  reservation. 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  39 

Ma  paled  visibly.  "  No,  miss.  I  don't  never 
have  the  rheumatiz  now — not  so  you'd  notice  it," 
she  said  plaintively.  "  Oncet  I'd  it  thurrbl,  an' 
me  son  Sammy  had  it,  too,  loikewoise,  fierce.  I'd 
uster  lay  in  bed  moanin'  an'  cryin'  till  you'd  be 
surprised,  an'  me  son  Sammy,  he  was  a'most  as 
bad.  Well,  for  a  week  or  two,  Martha,  she  done 
for  us  the  best  she  cud,  I  s'pose,  but  she  didn't 
make  for  to  stop  the  pain,  an'  at  last  one  night, 
when  me  son  Sammy  was  gruntin',  an'  I  was 
groanin'  to  beat  the  band,  Martha,  she  up,  all  of  a 
suddint,  an'  says  she,  she  was  goin'  for  to  cure  us 
of  the  rheumatiz,  or  know  the  reason  why.  An' 
she  went,  an'  got  the  karrysene-can,  an'  she  poured 
out  two  thurrbl  big  doses,  an'  she  stood  over  me 
son  Sammy  an'  I,  till  we  swalleyed  it  down,  an' 
since  ever  we  tuk  it,  me  an'  Sammy  ain't  never  had 
a  retur-rn.  Sometimes  I  have  a  sharp  twinge  o' 
somethin'  in  me  leg  or  me  arrm,  but  it  ain't 
rheumatiz,  an'  I  wouldn't  like  for  me  son  Sammy's 
wife  to  be  knowin'  it,  for  the  very  sight  of  her 
•startin'  for  the  karrysene — if  it's  only  to  fill  the 
lamp,  is  enough  to  make  me  gullup,  an'  I  know 
it's  the  same  wit'  me  son  Sammy,  though  we  never 
mention  the  subjeck  between  us." 

"  But  if  your  son  didn't  want  to  take  the  stuff," 
Claire  said,  trying  to  hide  her  amusement,  "  w;hy 
didn't  he  stand  up  and  say  so?  He's  a  man. 
He's  much  bigger  and  stronger  than  his  wife. 


40  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

How  could  she  make  him  do  what  he  didn't  want 
to?" 

The  question  was  evidently  not  a  new  one  to 
Ma. 

"  That's  what  annywan'd  naturrly  think,"  she 
returned  promptly.  "  But  that's  because  they 
wouldn't  be  knowin'  me  son  Sammy's  wife.  It 
ain't  size,  an'  it  ain't  stren'th — it's  just,  well, 
Martha.  There's  that  about  her  you  wouldn't 
like  to  take  any  chances  wit'.  Perhaps  it's  the 
thing  manny  does  be  talkin'  of  these  days.  Per 
haps  it's  that  got  a  holt  of  her.  Annyhow,  she 
says  she's  in  for't.  They  does  be  callin'  it 
Woman  Sufferrich,  I'm  told.  In  my  day  a  dacint 
body'd  have  thought  shame  to  be  discoursin'  in 
public  to  the  men.  They  held  their  tongues,  an' 
let  their  betthers  do  the  colloguein',  but  Martha 
says  some  of  the  ladies  she  works  for  says,  if  they 
talk  about  it  enough  the  men  will  give  them  their 
rights,  an'  let  'em  vote.  I'm  an  old  woman,  an' 
I  never  had  much  book-learnin',  but  I'm  thinkin' 
one  like  me  son  Sammy's  wife  has  all  the  rights 
she  needs  wit'out  the  votin'.  She  goes  out 
worrkin',  same's  me  son  Sammy,  day  in,  day  out. 
She  says  Sammy  could  support  her  good  enough, 
but  she  won't  raise  her  childern  in  a  teniment, 
along  wit'  th'  low  companions.  Me  son  Sammy, 
he  has  it  harrd  these  days.  He'd  not  be  able  to 
pay  for  such  a  grrand  flat  as  this,  in  a  dacint, 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  41 

quiet  neighborhood,  an'  so  Martha  turrns  to,  an' 
lends  a  hand.  An'  wance,  when  me  son  Sammy 
was  sick,  an'  out  av  a  job  entirely,  Martha,  she 
run  the  whole  concern  herself.  She  wouldn't  let 
me  son  Sammy  give  up,  or  get  down-hearted,  like 
he  mighta  done.  She  said  it  was  her  right  to 
care  for  us  all,  an'  him,  too,  bein'  he  was  down 
an'  out,  like  he  was.  It  seems  to  me  that's  fairrly 
all  the  rights  anny  woman'd  want — to  look  out  for 
four  childern,  an'  a  man,  an'  a  mother-in-law. 
But  if  Martha  wants  to  vote,  too,  why,  I'm 
thinkin'  she  will." 

It  was  particularly  encouraging  to  Claire,  just 
at  this  time,  to  view  Martha  in  the  light  of  one 
who  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  the  word  fail, 
for  Mrs.  Slawson  had  assured  her  that  if  she 
would  give  up  all  attempt  to  find  employment  on 
her  own  account,  she,  Mrs.  Slawson,  felt  she  could 
safely  promise  to  get  her  "  a  job  that  would  be 
satisfacktry  all  round,  only  one  must  be  a  little 
pationate." 

But  a  week,  ten  days,  had  gone  by,  since  Martha 
announced  she  had  an  idea,  and  still  the  idea  had 
not  materialized.  Meanwhile,  Claire  had  ample 
time  to  unpack  her  trunk  and  settle  her  belong 
ings  about  her,  so  "  the  pretty  lady's  room  "  took 
on  a  look  of  real  comfort,  and  the  children  never 
passed  the  door  without  pausing  before  the 
threshold,  waiting  with  bated  breath  for  some 


42  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

wonderful  chance  that  would  give  them  a  "  peek  " 
into  the  enchanted  chamber.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  transformation  was  effected  with  singularly 
few  "  properties."  Some  good  photographs 
tastefully  framed  in  plain,  dark  wood.  A 
Baghdad  rug  left  over  from  her  college  days, 
some  scraps  of  charming  old  textiles,  and  such  few 
of  the  precious  home  trifles  as  could  be  safely 
packed  in  her  trunk.  There  was  a  daguerreotype 
of  her  mother,  done  when  she  was  a  girl.  "  As 
old-fashioned  as  your  grandmother's  hoopskirt," 
Martha  called  it.  A  sampler  wrought  by  some 
ancient  great-aunt,  both  aunt  and  sampler  long 
since  yellowed  and  mellowed  by  the  years.  A 
della  Robbia  plaque,  with  its  exquisite  swaddled 
baby  holding  out  eager  arms,  as  if  to  be  taken. 
A  lacquer  casket,  a  string  of  Egyptian  mummy- 
beads — what  seemed  to  the  children  an  inex 
haustible  stock  of  wonderful,  mysterious  treas 
ures. 

But  the  object  that  appeared  to  interest  their 
mother  more  than  anything  else  in  the  whole  col 
lection,  was  a  book  of  unmounted  photographs, 
snap-shots  taken  by  Claire  at  college,  during  her 
travels  abroad,  some  few,  even,  here  in  the  city 
during  those  first  days  when  she  had  dreamed  it 
was  easy  to  walk  straight  into  an  art-editorship, 
and  no  questions  asked. 

Mrs.  Slawson  scrutinized  the  prints  with  an 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  43 

earnestness  so  eager  that  Claire  was  fairly 
touched,  until  she  discovered  that  here  was  no 
aching  hunger  for  knowledge,  no  ungratified 
yearning  "  for  to  admire  and  for  to  see,  for  to 
be'old  this  world  so  wide,"  but  just  what  looked 
like  a  perfectly  feminine  curiosity,  and  nothing 
more. 

"  Say,  ain't  it  a  pity  you  ain't  any  real  good 
likeness  of  you?  "  Martha  deplored.  "  These  is 
so  aggeravatin'.  They  don't  show  you  up  at  all. 
Just  a  taste-like,  an'  then  nothin'  to  squench  the 
appetite." 

'  That  sounds  as  if  I  were  an  entree  or  some 
thing,"  laughed  Claire.  "  But,  you  see,  I  don't 
want  to  be  shown  up,  Martha.  I  couldn't  abear 
it,  as  my  friend,  Sairy  Gamp,  would  say.  When 
I  was  little,  my  naughty  big  brother  used  to  tease 
me  dreadfully  about  my  looks.  He  invented  the 
most  embarrassing  nicknames  for  me;  he  alluded 
to  my  features  with  every  sort  of  disrespect.  It 
made  me  horribly  conscious  of  myself,  a  thing  no 
properly-constituted  kiddie  ought  ever  to  be,  of 
course.  And  I've  never  really  got  over  the  feel 
ing  that  I  am  a  '  sawed-off,'  that  my  nose  is 
'  curly,'  and  my  hair's  a  wig,  and  that  the  least 
said  about  the  rest  of  me,  the  better.  But  if  you'd 
actually  like  to  see  something  my  people  at  home 
consider  rather  good,  why,  here's  a  little  tinted 
photograph  I  had  done  for  my  dear  Daddy,  the 


44  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

last  Christmas  he  was  with  us.  He  liked  it,  and 
that's  the  reason  I  carry  it  about  with  me — be 
cause  he  wore  it  on  his  old-fashioned  watch- 
chain." 

She  put  into  Martha's  hand  a  thin,  flat,  dull- 
gold  locket. 

Mrs.  Slawson  opened  it,  and  gave  a  quick  gasp 
of  delight — the  sound  of  triumph  escaping  one 
who,  having  diligently  sought,  has  satisfactorily 
found.  "  Like  it!  "  Martha  ejaculated. 

Claire  deliberated  a  moment,  watching  the  play 
of  expression  on  Martha's  mobile  face.  "  If 
you  like  it  as  much  as  all  that,"  she  said  at  last, 
"  I  wish  you'd  take  it  and  keep  it.  It  seems  con 
ceited — priggish — to  suppose  you'd  care  to  own 
it,  but  if  you  really  would  care  to— 

Mrs.  Slawson  closed  one  great,  finely-formed, 
work-hardened  fist  over  the  delicate  treasure,  with 
a  sort  of  ecstatic  grab  of  appropriation.  "  Care 
to  own  it!  You  betcher  life!  There's  nothin' 
you  could  give  me  I'd  care  to  own  better,"  she  said 
with  honest  feeling,  then  and  there  tying  its  slen 
der  ribbon  about  her  neck,  and  slipping  the  locket 
inside  her  dress,  as  if  it  had  been  a  precious 
amulet. 

The  day  following  saw  her  started  bright  and 
early  for  work  at  the  Shermans'.  When  she  ar 
rived  at  the  area-gate  and  rang,  there  was  no 
response,  and  though  she  waited  a  reasonable 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  45 

time,  and  then  rang  and  rang  again,  nobody  an 
swered  the  bell. 

"  They  must  be  up,"  she  said,  settling  down  to 
business  with  a  steady  thumb  on  the  electric  but 
ton.  "  What  ails  the  bunch  o'  them  in  the 
kitchen,  I  should  like  to  know.  It'd  be  a  pity  to 
disturb  Eliza.  She  might  be  busy,  gettin'  herself 
an  extry  cup  o'  coffee,  an'  couple  o'  fried  hams- 
an'-eggs,  to  break  her  fast  before  breakfast.  But 
that  gay  young  sprig  of  a  kitchenmaid,  she  might 
answer  the  bell  an'  open  the  door  to  an  honest 
woman." 

The  gay  young  sprig  still  failing  of  her  duty, 
and  Martha's  patience  giving  out  at  last,  the 
honest  woman  began  to  tamper  with  the  spring- 
lock  of  the  iron  gate.  For  any  one  else,  it  would 
never  have  yielded,  but  it  opened  to  Martha's 
hand,  as  with  the  dull  submission  of  the  con 
quered. 

Mrs.  Slawson  closed  the  gate  after  her  with 
care.  "  I'll  just  step  light,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"  an'  steal  in  on  'em  unbeknownst,  an'  give  'em  as 
good  a  scare  as  ever  they  had  in  their  lives — the 
whole  lazy  lot  of  'em." 

But,  like  Mother  Hubbard's  cupboard,  the 
kitchen  was  bare,  and  no  soul  was  to  be  found  in 
the  laundry,  the  pantry  or,  in  fact,  anywhere 
throughout  the  basement  region.  Softly,  and 
with  some  real  misgiving  now,  Martha  made  her 


46  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

way  upstairs.  Here,  for  the  first  time,  she  distin 
guished  the  sound  of  a  human  voice  breaking  the 
early  morning  hush  of  the  silent  house.  It  was 
Radcliffe's  voice  issuing,  evidently,  from  the 
dining-room,  in  which  imposing  apartment  he 
chose  to  have  his  breakfast  served  in  solitary 
grandeur  every  morning,  what  time  the  rest  of  his 
family  still  slept. 

Martha,  pausing  on  her  way  up,  peeped  around 
the  edge  of  the  half-closed  door,  and  then  stopped 
short. 

Along  the  wall,  ranged  up  in  line,  like  soldiers 
facing  their  captain,  or  victims  of  a  hold-up  their 
captor,  stood  the  household  servants — portly 
Shaw  the  butler,  Beatrice  the  parlor-maid,  Eliza 
the  "  chef-cook  " — all,  down  to  the  gay  young 
sprig,  aforesaid,  who,  as  Martha  had  explained 
to  her  family  in  strong  disapproval,  "  was  en 
gaged  to  do  scullerywork,  an'  then  didn't  even 
know  how  to  scull."  Before  them,  in  an  attitude 
of  command,  not  to  say  menace,  stood  Radcliffe, 
brandishing  a  carving-knife  which,  in  his  cruelly 
mischievous  little  hand,  became  a  weapon  full  of 
dangerous  possibilities. 

"  Don't  dare  to  budge,  any  one  of  you,"  he 
breathed  masterfully  to  his  cowed  regiment. 
"Get  back  there,  you  Shaw!  An',  Beetrice,  if 
you  don't  mind  me,  I'll  carve  your  ear  off.  You 
better  be  afraid  of  me,  all  of  you,  an'  mind  what 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  47 

I  say,  or  I'll  take  this  dagger,  an'  dag  the  life  out 
of  you!  You're  all  my  servants — you're  all  my 
slaves !  D'you  hear  me !  " 

Evidently  they  did,  and  not  one  of  them  cared 
or  dared  to  stir. 

For  a  second  Radcliffe  faced  them  in  silence, 
before  beginning  to  march  Napoleonically  back 
and  forth,  his  savage  young  eye  alert,  his  naughty 
hand  brandishing  the  knife  threateningly.  A 
second,  and  then,  suddenly,  without  warning,  the 
scene  changed,  and  Radcliffe  was  a  squirming, 
wriggling  little  boy,  shorn  of  his  power,  grasped 
firmly  in  a  grip  from  which  there  was  no  chance 
of  escape. 

"Shame  on  you!"  exclaimed  Martha  indig 
nantly,  addressing  the  spellbound  line,  staring  at 
her  blankly.  "  Shame  on  you !  To  stand  there 
gawkin',  an'  never  raisin'  a  finger  to  this  poor 
little  fella,  an'  him  just  perishin'  for  the  touch 
of  a  real  mother's  hand.  Get  out  of  this — the 
whole  crowd  o'  you,"  and  before  the  force  of 
her  righteous  wrath  they  fled  as  chaff  before  the 
wind.  Then,  quick  as  the  automatic  click  of  a 
monstrous  spring,  the  hitherto  unknown — the  sup 
posed-to-be-impossible — befell  Radcliffe  Sherman. 
He  was  treated  as  if  he  had  been  an  iron  girder  on 
which  the  massive  clutch  of  a  steam-lift  had 
fastened.  He  was  raised,  lowered,  laid  across 
what  seemed  to  be  two  moveless  iron  trestles, 


48  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

and  then  the  weight  as  of  a  mighty,  relentless 
paddle,  beat  down  upon  him  once,  twice,  thrice— 
and  he  knew  what  it  was  to  suffer. 

The  whole  thing  was  so  utterly  novel,  so  ab 
solutely  unexpected,  that  for  the  first  instant  he 
was  positively  stunned  with  surprise.  Then  the 
knowledge  that  he  was  being  spanked,  that  an 
unspeakable  indignity  was  happening  him,  made 
him  clinch  his  teeth  against  the  sobs  that  rose  in 
his  throat,  and  he  bore  his  punishment  in  white- 
faced,  shivering  silence. 

When  it  was  over,  Martha  stood  him  down  in 
front  of  her,  holding  him  firmly  against  her  knees, 
and  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes.  His  color 
less,  quivering  lips  gave  out  no  sound. 

"  You've  got  off  easy,"  observed  Mrs.  Slawson 
benevolently.  "  If  you'd  been  my  boy  Sammy, 
you'd  a  got  about  twict  as  much  an'  three  times  as 
thora.  As  it  is,  I  just  kinder  favored  you — give 
you  a  lick  an'  a  promise,  as  you  might  say,  seein' 
it's  you  and  you  ain't  used  to  it — yet.  Besides,  I 
reely  like  you,  an'  want  you  to  be  a  good  boy. 
But,  if  you  should  need  any  more  at  any  other 
time,  why,  you  can  take  it  from  me,  I  keep 
my  hand  in  on  Sammy,  an'  practice  makes  per 
fect." 

She  released  the  two  small,  trembling  hands, 
rose  to  her  feet,  and  made  as  if  to  leave  the  room. 
Then  for  the  first  time  Radcliffe  spoke. 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  49 

"  S-say,"  he  breathed  with  difficulty,  "  s-say 
— are  you — are  you  goin'  to  t-tellf  " 

Martha  paused,  regarding  him  and  his  ques 
tion  with  due  concern.  "Tell?  " 

"  Are  y-you  going  to — t-tell  on  me,  t-to  ev-every- 
body?  Are  y-you  going  to  t-tell — S-Sammy?  " 

"  Shoor  I'm  not!  I'm  a  perfect  lady!  I  al 
ways  keep  such  little  affairs  with  my  gen'lemen 
friends  strickly  confidential.  Besides — Sammy 
has  troubles  of  his  own." 


CHAPTER  V 

ALL  that  day,  Martha  held  herself  in  readi 
ness  to  answer  at  headquarters  for  what  she 
had  done. 

"  He'll  shoor  tell  his  mother,  the  young  vill- 
yan,"  said  Eliza.  "  An'  then  it'll  be  Mrs.  Slaw- 
son  for  the  grand  bounce." 

But  Mrs.  Slawson  did  not  worry.  She  went 
about  her  work  as  usual,  and  when,  in  the  course 
of  her  travels,  she  met  Radcliffe,  she  greeted  him 
as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

"  Say,  did  you  know  that  Sammy  has  a  dog?  " 

No  answer. 

"  It's  a  funny  kind  o'  dog.  If  you  begged  your 
head  off,  I'd  never  tell  you  where  he  come  from." 

"  Where  did  he  come  from?  " 

"  Didn't  you  hear  me  say  I'd  never  tell  you? 
I  do'  know.  He  just  picked  Sammy's  father  up 
on  the  street,  an'  follered  him  home,  for  all  the 
world  the  same's  he'd  been  a  Christian." 

"  What  kind  of  dog  is  he?" 

"  Cur-dog." 

"What  kind's  that?" 

"  Well,  a  full-blooded  cur-dog  is  somethin'  rare 
in  these  parts.  You  wouldn't  find  him  at  an 

50 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  51 

ordinary  dog-show,  like  your  mother  goes  to. 
Now,  Sammy's  dog  is  full-blooded — leastways,  he 
will  be,  when  he's  fed  up." 

"  My  mother's  dog  is  a  pedigree-dog.  Is  Sam 
my's  that  kind?  " 

"  I  ain't  ast  him,  but  I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"  My  mother's  got  a  paper  tells  all  about  where 
Fifi  came  from.  It's  in  a  frame." 

"Fifi  is?" 

"  No,  the  paper  is.  The  paper  says  Fifi  is  out 
of  a  deller,  sired  by  Star.  I  heard  her  read  it 
off  to  a  lady  that  came  to  see  her  one  day.  Say, 
Martha,  what's  a  deller?  " 

"  I  do'  know." 

"  Fifi  has  awful  long  ears.  What  kind  of  ears 
has  Sammy's  dog  got?  " 

"  I  didn't  notice  partic'lar,  I  must  say.  But 
he's  got  two  of  'em,  an'  they  can  stand  up,  an'  lay 
down,  real  natural-like,  accordin'  to  taste — the 
dog's  taste,  which  wouldn't  be  noways  remarkable, 
if  it  was  his  tongue,  but  is  what  /  call  extraor 
dinary,  seein'  it's  his  ears.  An'  his  tail's  the 
same,  exceptin'  it  has  even  more  education  still. 
It  can- wag,  besides  standin'  up  an'  layin'  down. 
Ain't  that  pretty  smart  for  a  pup,  that  prob'ly 
didn't  have  no  raisin'  to  speak  of,  'less  you  count 
raisin'  on  the  toe  of  somebody's  boot?" 

"  D'you  mean  anybody  kicked  him?  " 

"  Well,  he  ain't  said  so,  in  so  many  words,  but 


52  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

I  draw  my  own  conclusions.  He's  an  honorable, 
gentlemanlike  dog.  He  keeps  his  own  counsel. 
If  it  so  happened  that  he'd  needed  to  be  pun 
ished  at  any  time,  he'd  bear  it  like  a  little  man, 
an'  hold  his  tongue.  You  don't  catch  a  reel 
thorerbred  whinin'." 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  Sammy's  dog." 

"  Well,  p'raps  you  can.  But  I'll  tell  you  con 
fidential,  I  wouldn't  like  Flicker  to  'sociate  with 
none  but  the  best  class  o'  boys.  I'm  goin'  to  see 
he  has  a  fine  line  of  friends  from  this  time  on,  an' 
if  Sammy  ain't  what  he'd  oughter  be,  why,  he  just 
can't  mix  with  Flicker,  that's  all  there  is  to  it!  " 

"  Who  gave  him  that  name?  " 

"  '  His  sponsers  in  baptism '  Ho  !  Hear 

me!  Recitin'  the  Catechism!  I'm  such  a  good 
'Piscopalian  I  just  can't  help  it!  A  little  lady- 
friend  of  mine  gave  him  that  name,  'cause  he 
flickers  round  so — so  like  a  little  yeller  flame. 
Did  I  mention  his  color  was  yeller?  That  alone 
would  show  he's  a  true-breed  cur-dog." 

"  Say,  I  forgot — my  mother  she — she  sent  me 
down  to  tell  you  she  wants  to  see  you  right  away 
up  in  her  sittin'-room.  I  guess  you  better  go 
quick." 

Mrs.  Slawson  ceased  plying  her  polishing- 
cloth  upon  the  hardwood  floor,  sat  back  upon 
her  heels,  and  calmly  gathered  her  utensils  to 
gether. 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  53 

"  Say,  my  mother  she  said  tell  you  she  wanted 
to  see  you  right  off,  for  something  particular. 
Ain't  you  goin'  to  hurry?  " 

"  Shoor  I  am.     Certaintly." 

"  You  don't  look  as  if  you  was  hurrying." 

"  When  you  get  to  be  a  big  boy,  and  have  a 
teacher  to  learn  you  knowledge,  you'll  find  that 
large  bodies  moves  slowly.  I  didn't  have  as 
much  schoolin'  as  I'd  like,  but  what  I  learned  I 
remember,  an'  I  put  it  into  practice.  That's 
where  the  use  of  books  comes  in — to  be  put  in 
practice.  Now,  I'm  a  large  body,  an'  if  I  tried 
to  move  fast  I'd  be  goin'  against  what's  printed 
in  the  books,  which  would  be  wrong.  Still,  if 
a  lady  sends  for  me  post-haste,  why,  of  course,  I 
makes  an  exception  an'  answers  in  the  same  spirit. 
So  long!  See  you  later!  " 

Radcliffe  had  no  mind  to  remain  behind.  Some 
thing  subtly  fascinating  in  Martha  seemed  to  draw 
him  after  her,  and  he  followed  on  upstairs,  swing 
ing  himself  athletically  along,  hand  over  hand, 
upon  the  baluster-rail,  almost  at  her  heels. 

"  Say,  don't  you  wonder  what  it  is  my  mother's 
goin'  to  say  to  you?"  he  demanded  disingenu 
ously. 

Mrs.  Slawson  shook  her  head.  "  Wonderin' 
is  a  habit  I  broke  myself  off  of,  when  I  wasn't 
knee-high  to  a  grasshopper,"  she  replied.  "  I 
take  things  as  they  come,  not  to  mention  as  they 


54  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

go.  Either  way  suits  me,  an'  annyhow  I  don't 
wonder  about  'em.  If  it's  somethin'  good,  why, 
it'll  keep.  An'  if  it's  somethin'  bad,  won- 
derin'  won't  make  it  any  better.  So  what's  the 
use?" 

"  Guess  I'll  go  on  up,  an'  see  my  grandmother 
in  her  room,"  observed  Radcliffe  casually,  as  they 
reached  Mrs.  Sherman's  door.  "  I  won't  go  in 
here  with  you." 

"  Dear  me,  how  sorry  I  am!  "  Martha  returned 
with  feeling.  "  I'd  kinder  counted  on  you  for — 
for  what  they  calls  moral  support,  that  bein'  the 
kind  the  male  gender  is  mainly  good  for,  these 
days.  But,  of  course,  if  you  ain't  been  invited,  it 
wouldn't  be  genteel  for  you  to  press  yourself.  I 
can  understand  your  feelin's.  They  does  credit 
to  your  head  an'  to  your  heart.  As  I  said  before 
— so  long!  See  you  later." 

The  door  having  closed  her  in,  Radcliffe 
lingered  aimlessly  about,  outside.  Without,  of 
course,  being  able  to  analyze  it,  he  felt  as  if  some 
rare  source  of  entertainment  had  been  withdrawn 
from  him,  leaving  life  flat  and  tasteless.  He  felt 
like  being,  what  his  mother  called,  "  fractious," 
but — he  remembered,  as  in  a  flash,  "  you  never 
catch  a  thorerbred  whinin',"  and  he  snapped  his 
jaws  together  with  manly  determination. 

At  Martha's  entrance,  Mrs.  Sherman  glanced 
up  languidly  from  the  book  she  was  reading,  and 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  55 

inquired  with  pointed  irony,  "  You  didn't  find  it 
convenient  to  come  to  me  directly  I  sent  for  you, 
did  you,  Martha?  " 

Mrs.  Slawson  closed  the  door  behind  her  gently, 
then  stood  planted  like  some  massive  caryatid 
supporting  the  frame.  Something  monumental  in 
the  effect  of  her  presence  made  the  question  just 
flung  at  her  seem  petty,  impudent,  and  Mrs.  Sher 
man  hastened  to  add  more  considerately,  "  But  I 
sent  Radcliffe  with  my  message.  No  doubt  he 
delayed." 

"  No'm,"  admitted  Martha,  "  he  told  me  all 
right  enough,  but  I  was  in  the  middle  o'  polishin'. 
It  took  me  a  minute  or  two  to  get  my  things  col 
lected,  an'  then  it  took  me  a  couple  more  to  get  me 
collected,  but — better  late  than  never,  as  the 
sayin'  goes,  which,  by  the  same  token,  I  don't 
believe  it's  always  true." 

There  was  not  the  faintest  trace  of  apology  or 
extenuation  in  her  tone  or  manner.  If  she  had 
any  misgivings  as  to  the  possibility  of  Rad- 
cliffe's  having  complained,  she  gave  no  evidence 
of  it. 

"  What  I  want  to  say  is  this,"  announced  Mrs. 
Sherman  autocratically,  making  straight  for  the 
point.  "  I  absolutely  forbid  any  one  in  my  house 
hold  to  touch- 
Martha  settled  herself  more  firmly  on  her  feet 
and  crossed  her  arms  with  unconscious  dignity 


56  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

upon  her  bosom,  bracing  herself  against  the  com 
ing  blow. 

"  I  absolutely  forbid  any  one  in  my  household 
to  touch  the  new  marble  slabs  and  nickel  fittings 
in  my  dressing-rooms  with  cleaning  stuffs  contain 
ing  acids,  after  this.  I  have  gone  to  great  ex 
pense  to  have  the  house  remodeled  this  summer, 
and  the  bathrooms  have  all  been  tiled  and  fitted 
up  afresh,  from  beginning  to  end.  I  know  that, 
in  the  past,  you  have  used  acid,  gritty  soaps  on  the 
basins  and  tubs,  Martha,  and  my  plumber  tells 
me  you  mustn't  do  it.  He  says  it's  ruinous.  He 
recommends  kerosene  oil  for  the  bath-tubs  and 
marble  slabs.  He  says  it  will  take  any  stain  out, 
and  is  much  safer  than  the  soaps.  So  please  use 
kerosene  to  remove  the  stains " 

Mrs.  Slawson  relaxed.  Without  the  slightest 
hint  of  incivility  she  interrupted  cheerfully,  "  An' 
does  your  plumber  mention  what'll  remove  the 
stink — I  should  say,  odor,  of  the  karrysene?  " 

Mrs.  Sherman  laughed.  "  Dear  me,  no.  I'm 
afraid  that's  up  to  you,  as  Radcliffe  says." 

"  O,  I  ain't  no  doubt  it  can  be  done,  an'  even 
if  it  can't,  the  smell  o'  karrysene  is  healthy,  an' 
you  wouldn't  mind  a  faint  whifft  of  it  now  an' 
then,  clingin'  to  you,  comin'  outer  your  bath, 
would  you?  Or  if  you  did,  you  might  set  over 
against  the  oil-smell  one  o'  them  strong  bath- 
powders  that's  like  the  perfumery-counter  in  a 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  57 

department-store  broke  loose,  an'  let  'em  fight  it 
out  between  'em.  To  my  way  o'  thinkin',  it'd  be 
a  tie,  an'  no  thanks  to  your  nose." 

"  Well,  I  only  follow  the  plumber's  directions. 
He  guarantees  his  work  and  materials,  but  he 
says  acids  will  roughen  the  surface  of  anything — 
enamel  or  marble  or  whatever  it  may  be.  I'm 
sure  you'll  be  careful  in  the  future,  now  I  have 
spoken,  and — er — how  are  you  getting  on  these 
days?  How  are  you  and  your  husband  and  the 
children?" 

"  Tolerable,  thank  you.  Sammy,  my  husband, 
he  ain't  been  earnin'  as  much  as  usual  lately,  but 
I  says  to  him,  when  he's  downhearted-like  because 
he  can't  hand  out  the  price  o'  the  rent,  '  Say,  you 
ain't  fished  up  much  of  anythin'  certaintly,  but 
count  your  blessin's.  You  ain't  fell  in  the  river 
either.'  An'  be  this  an'  be  that,  we  make  out  to 
get  along.  We  never  died  a  winter  yet." 

"  Dear  me,  I  should  think  a  great,  strapping 
man  ought  to  be  able  to  support  his  family  with 
out  having  to  depend  on  his  wife  to  go  out  by  the 
day." 

"  My  husband  does  his  best,"  said  Martha 
with  simple  dignity.  "  He  does  his  best,  but 
things  goes  contrairy  with  some,  no  doubt  o' 
that." 

"  O,  the  thought  of  the  day  would  not  bear  you 
out  there,  I  assure  you!"  Mrs.  Sherman  took 


58  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

her  up  quickly.  u  Science  teaches  us  that  our 
condition  in  life  reflects  our  character.  We  get 
the  results  of  what  we  are  in  our  environment. 
You  understand?  In  other  words,  each  receives 
his  desert.  I  hope  I  am  clear?  I  mean,  what 
he  deserves." 

Martha  smiled,  a  slow,  calm,  tolerant  smile. 
"  You  are  perfeckly  clear,"  she  said  reassuringly. 
"  Only  I  ain't  been  educated  up  to  seein'  things 
that  way.  Seems  to  me,  if  everybody  got  their 
dessert,  as  you  calls  it,  some  o'  them  that's  feedin' 
so  expensive  now  at  the  grand  hotels  wouldn't 
have  a  square  meal.  It's  the  ones  that  ain't 
earned  'em,  havin'  the  square  meal  and  the  des 
sert,  that  puts  a  good  man,  like  my  Sammy,  out  o' 
a  job.  But  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  It's 
all  bound  to  come  right  some  day — only  mean- 
whiles,  I  wish  livin'  wasn't  so  high.  What  with 
good  steak  twenty-eight  cents  a  pound,  an'  its  bein' 
as  much  as  your  life  is  worth  to  even  ast  the  price 
o'  fresh  vegetables,  it  takes  some  contrivin'  to  get 
along.  Not  to  speak  o'  potatas  twenty-five  cents 
the  half-peck,  an'  every  last  one  o'  my  fam'ly  as 
fond  of  'em  as  if  they  was  fresh  from  Ire 
land,  instead  o'  skippin'  a  generation  on  both 
sides." 

"  But,  my  good  woman !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sher 
man,  shocked,  "  what  do  you  mean  by  talking 
of  porterhouse  steak  and  fresh  vegetables  this 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  59 

time  of  year?  Oughtn't  you  to  economize?  Isn't 
it  extravagant  for  you  to  use  such  expensive  cuts 
of  meat?  I'm  sure  there  are  others  that  are 
cheaper — more  suited  to  your — your  income." 

"  Certaintly  there  is.  Chuck  steak  is  cheap. 
Chuck  steak's  so  cheap  that  about  all  it  costs  you 
is  a  few  cents  to  the  butcher,  an'  the  price  of 
the  store  teeth  you  need,  after  you've  broke  your 
own  tryin'  to  chew  it.  But,  you  see,  my  notion 
is,  to  try  to  give  my  fam'ly  the  sort  o'  stuff  that's 
nourishin'.  Not  just  somethin'  to  eat,  but  food. 
I  don't  believe  their  stummicks  realize  they  belong 
to  poor  folks.  I'm  not  envyin'  the  rich,  mind 
you.  Dear  no !  I  wouldn't  be  hired  to  clutter 
up  my  insides  with  the  messes  I  see  goin'  up  to 
the  tables  of  some  i  work  for.  Cocktails,  an' 
entrys,  an'  foody-de-gra-gra,  an'  suchlike.  No ! 
I  believe  in  reel,  straight  nourishment.  The 
things  that  builds  up  your  bones,  an'  gives  you  red 
blood,  an'  good  muscle,  so's  you  can  hold  down 
your  job,  an'  hold  up  your  head.  I  believe  in 
payin'  for  that  kind  o'  food,  if  I  do  have  to  work 
for  it." 

Mrs.  Sherman  took  up  the  book  she  had 
dropped  at  Martha's  entrance. 

'  You  certainly  are  a  character,"  she  observed. 

"  Thank  you,  'm,"  said  Martha. 

"  O,  and  by  the  way,  before  you  go — I  want 
you  to  see  that  Mr.  Ronald's  rooms  are  put  in  per- 


60  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

feet  order  to-day.  I  don't  care  to  trust  it  to  the 
girls,  but  you  can  have  one  of  them  to  help  you,  if 
you  like,  provided  you  are  sure  to  oversee  her. 
You  know  how  particular  I  am  about  my  brother 
Frank's  rooms.  Be  sure  nothing  is  neglected." 
"  Yes'm,"  said  Martha. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  next  morning  Eliza  met  her  at  the  area- 
gate,  showing  a  face  of  ominous  sympathy, 
wagging  a  doleful  head. 

"  What'd  I  tell  you?"  she  exclaimed  before 
she  had  even  unlatched  the  spring-lock.  "  That 
young  villyan  has  a  head  on  him  old  enough  to 
be  his  father's,  if  so  be  he  ever  had  one.  He's 
deep  as  a  well.  He  didn't  tell  his  mother  on  ye 
yesterday  mornin',  but  he  done  worse — the  little 
fox !  He  told  his  uncle  Frank  when  he  got  home 
last  night.  Leastways,  Mr.  Shaw  got  a  message 
late  in  the  evenin'  from  upstairs,  which  was,  to 
tell  Mrs.  Slawson,  Mr.  Ronald  wanted  to  see  her 
after  his  breakfast  this  mornin',  an'  be  sure  she 
didn't  forget." 

Mrs.  Slawson  received  the  news  with  a  smile 
as  of  such  actual  welcome,  that  Eliza,  who  flat 
tered  herself  she  knew  a  thing  or  two  about 
human  nature,  was  rather  upset  in  her  calcula 
tions. 

'  You  look  like  you  relish  bein'  bounced,"  she 
observed  tartly. 

"  Well,  if  I'm  goin'  to  get  my  walkin'-papers, 
I'd  rather  get  'em  from  Mr.  Frank  than  from 

61 


62  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

anybody  else.  There's  never  any  great  loss  with 
out  some  small  gain.  At  least,  if  Mr.  Frank  is 
dischargin'  me,  he's  noticin'  I'm  alive,  an'  that's 
somethin'  to  be  thankful  for." 

"That's  as  you  look  at  it!"  snapped  Eliza. 
"  Mr.  Frank  is  all  right  enough,  but  I  must  say 
I'd  rather  keep  my  place  than  have  even  him  kick 
me  out.  An'  you  look  as  if  his  sendin'  for  you 
was  to  say  you'd  come  in  for  a  fortune." 

"  P'raps  it  is,"  said  Martha.  "  You  never 
can  tell." 

"  Well,  if  /  was  makin'  tracks  for  fortunes,  I 
wouldn't  start  in  on  Mr.  Frank  Ronald,"  Eliza 
observed  cuttingly. 

"  Which  might  be  exackly  where  you'd  slip  up 
on  it,"  Martha  returned  with  a  bland  smile. 

And  yet,  in  reality,  she  was  by  no  means  so 
composed  as  she  appeared.  She  felt  as  might  one 
who,  moved  by  a  great  purpose,  had  rashly 
usurped  the  prerogative  of  fate  and  set  in  motion 
mighty  forces  that,  if  they  did  not  make  for  suc 
cess,  might  easily  make  for  disaster.  She  had 
very  definitely  stuck  her  thumb  into  somebody 
else's  pie,  and  if  her  laudable  intention  was  to 
draw  forth  a  plum,  not  for  herself  but  for  the 
other,  why,  that  was  no  proof  that,  in  the  end, 
she  might  not  get  smartly  scorched  for  her 
pains. 

When  the  summons  to  the  dining-room  actually 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  63 

came,  Martha  felt  such  an  unsubstantiality  in  the 
region  of  her  knee-joints,  that  for  a  moment  she 
almost  believed  the  bones  had  turned  into  bread 
crumbs.  Then  energetically  she  shook  herself 
into  shape,  spurning  her  momentary  weakness 
from  her,  with  an  almost  visible  gesture,  and 
marched  forward  to  meet  what  awaited  her. 

Shaw  had  removed  the  breakfast  dishes  from 
the  table  beside  which  "  Lord  Ronald  "  sat  alone. 
It  was  all  very  imposing,  the  place,  the  particular 
purpose  for  which  she  had  been  summoned,  and 
which  was,  as  yet,  unrevealed  to  her,  the  person, 
most  of  all. 

Martha  thought  that  perhaps  she  had  been  a 
little  hard  on  Cora,  "  the  time  she  give  her  the 
tongue-lashin'  for  stumblin'  over  the  first  lines 
of  her  piece,  that  evenin'  of  the  Sund'-School 
ent'tainment.  It  wasn't  so  dead  easy  as  a  body 
might  think,  to  stand  up  to  a  whole  churchful  o' 
people,  or  even  one  person,  when  he  was  the  kind 
that's  as  good  (or  as  bad)  as  a  whole  churchful." 

Martha  could  see  her  now,  as  she  stood  then, 
announcing  to  the  assembled  multitude  in  a  high, 
unmodulated  treble: 

"  //  was  the  t-time  when  l-lilies  bub-blow" 

"  an'  her  stockin'  fixin'  to  come  down  any  min'- 
ute!" 

"Ah,  Martha,  good-morning!" 


64  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

At  the  first  sound  of  his  voice  Mrs.  Slawson 
recovered  her  poise.  That  ivouldn' t-call-the- 
queen-your-cousin  feeling  came  over  her  again, 
and  she  was  ready  to  face  the  music,  whatever 
tune  it  might  play.  So  susceptible  is  the  foolish 
spirit  of  mortal  to  those  subtle,  impalpable  in 
fluences  of  atmosphere  that  we  try  to  describe,  in 
terms  of  inexact  science,  as  personality,  vibration, 
aura,  magnetism. 

"  I  asked  to  see  you,  Martha,  because  Radcliffe 
tells  me " 

Martha's  heart  sank  within  her.  So  it  was 
Radcliffe  and  the  grand  bounce  after  all,  and 

not Well,  it  was  a  pity!  After  all  her 

thinkin'  it  out,  an'  connivin',  an'  contrivin',  to  have 
nothin'  come  of  it!  To  be  sent  off  before  she 
had  time  to  see  the  thing  through ! 

"  Radcliffe  tells  me,"  continued  the  clear,  mel 
low  voice,  penetrating  the  mist  of  her  meditations, 
"  that  you  own  a  very  rare,  a  very  unusual  breed 
of  dog.  I  couldn't  make  out  much  from  Rad- 
cliffe's  description,  but  apparently  the  dog  is  a 
pedigree  animal." 

Mrs.  Slawson's  shoulders,  in  her  sudden  revul 
sion  of  feeling,  shook  with  soundless  mirth. 

"Pedigree  animal!"  she  repeated.  "  Cer- 
taintly!  Shoor,  he's  a  pedigree  animal.  He's 
had  auntsisters  as  far  back  as  any  other  dog,  an' 
that's  a  fack.  What's  the  way  they  put  it?  '  Out 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  65 

of '  the  gutter,  '  sired  by '  Kicks.  You  never  see 
a  little  yeller,  mongol,  cur-dog,  sir,  that's  yellerer 
or  cur-er  than  him.  I'd  bet  my  life  his  line  ain't 
never  been  crossed  by  anythin'  different,  since  the 
first  pup  o'  them  all  set  out  to  run  his  legs  off 
tryin'  to  get  rid  o'  the  tin-can  tied  to  his  tail. 
But  Flicker's  a  winner,  for  all  that,  an'  he's  goin' 
to  keep  my  boy  Sammy  in  order,  better'n  I  could 
ever  do  it.  You  see,  I  just  has  to  hint  to  Sammy 
that  if  he  ain't  proper-behaved  I  won't  let  Flicker 
'sociate  with'm,  an'  he's  as  good  as  pie.  I 
wouldn't  be  without  that  dog,  sir,  now  I  got  in 
timately  acquainted  with  him,  for " 

"  That  touches  the  question  I  was  intending 
to  raise,"  interposed  Mr.  Ronald.  "  You  man 
aged  to  get  Radcliffe's  imagination  considerably 
stirred  about  Flicker,  and  the  result  is,  he  has 
asked  me  to  see  if  I  can't  come  to  an  under 
standing  with  you.  He  wants  me  to  buy  Flicker." 

Martha's  genial  smile  faded.  "  Why,  good 
ness  gracious,  Lor — I  should  say,  Mr.  Ronald,  the 
poor  little  rascal,  dog  rather,  ain't  worth  two 
cents.  He's  just  a  young  flagrant  pup,  you 
wouldn't  be  bothered  to  notice,  'less  you  had  the 
particular  likin'  for  such  things  we  got." 

"  Radcliffe  wants  Flicker.  I'll  give  you  ten 
dollars  for  him." 

"  I — I  couldn't  take  it,  Mr.  Ronald,  sir.  It 
wouldn't  be  fair  to  you !  " 


66  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"  Fifteen  dollars." 

"  It  ain't  the  money " 

"Twenty!" 

"I— I  can't!" 

"Twenty-five  dollars,  Martha.  Radcliffe's 
heart  is  set  on  the  dog." 

A  quick  observer,  looking  attentively  at  Mrs. 
Slawson's  face,  could  have  seen  something  like  a 
faint  quiver  disturb  the  firm  lines  of  her  lips  and 
chin  for  a  moment.  A  flash,  and  it  was  gone. 

"  I'd  give  you  the  dog,  an'  welcome,  Mr. 
Ronald,"  she  said  presently,  "but  I  just  can't  do  it. 
The  little  feller,  he  never  had  a  square  deal  be 
fore,  an'  because  my  husband  an'  the  rest  of  us 
give  it  to  him,  he  loves  us  to  death,  an'  you'd 
think  he'd  bark  his  head  off  for  joy  when  the  raft 
o'  them  gets  home  after  school.  An'  then,  nights 
—  (I  ben  workin'  overtime  lately,  doin'  outside 
jobs  that  bring  me  home  late) — nights,  when  I 
come  back,  an'  all  in  the  place  is  abed  an'  asleep, 
an'  I  let  myself  in,  in  the  black  an'  the  cold,  the 
only  livin'  creature  to  welcome  me  is  Flicker.  An' 
there  he  stands,  up  an'  ready  for  me,  the  minute 
he  hears  my  key  in  the  lock,  an'  when  I  open  the 
door,  an'  light  the  changelier  (he  don't  dare  let  a 
bark  out  of'm,  he  knows  better,  the  smart  little 
fella!),  there  he  stands,  a-waggin'  his  stump  of  a 
tail  like  a  Christian,  an' — Mr.  Ronald,  sir — that 
wag  ain't  for  sale!  " 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  67 

For  a  moment  something  akin  in  both  held  them 
silent.  Then  Mr.  Ronald  slowly  inclined  his 
head.  "  You  are  quite  right,  Martha.  I  under 
stand  your  feeling." 

Martha  turned  to  go.  She  had,  in  fact, 
reached  the  door  when  she  was  recalled. 

"  O — one  moment,  please." 

She  came  back. 

"  My  sister  tells  me  you  worked  in  my  rooms 
yesterday.  Was  any  one  there  with  you  at  the 
time?" 

"  No,  sir.  Mrs.  Sherman  said  I  might  have 
one  of  the  girls,  but  I  perfer  to  see  to  your  things 
myself." 

'  Then  you  were  quite  alone?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Do  you  know  if  any  one  else  in  the  house 
hold  had  occasion  to  go  into  my  rooms  during  the 
day?" 

"  Of  course  I  can't  be  pos'tive.  But  I  don't 
think  so,  sir." 

'  Then  I  wonder  if  this  belongs  to  you?  "  He 
extended  his  hand  toward  her.  In  his  palm  lay  a 
small,  flat,  gold  locket. 

Something  like  the  faintest  possible  electric 
shock  passed  up  Mrs.  Slawson's  spine,  and  con 
tracted  the  muscles  about  her  mouth.  For  a  sec 
ond  she  positively  grinned,  then  quickly  her  face 
regained  its  customary  calm.  With  a  clever,  if 


68  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

slightly  tardy,  movement,  her  hand  went  up  to 
her  throat. 

"  Yes,  sir — shoor,  it's  mine!  Now  what  do 
you  think  of  that!  Me  losin'  somethin'  I  think 
the  world  an'  all  of,  an'  have  wore  for,  I  do'  know 
how  long,  an'  never  missin'  it!  " 

Mr.  Ronald's  eyes  shot  out  a  quick,  quizzical 
gleam. 

"  O,  you  have  been  accustomed  to  wear  it?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Mrs.  Sherman  tells  me  she  never  remembers 
to  have  seen  you  with  any  sort  of  ornament,  even 
a  gold  pin.  She  thought  the  locket  could  not  pos 
sibly  belong  to  you." 

"  Well,  it  does.  An'  the  reason  she  hasn't  no 
ticed  me  wearin'  it  is,  I  wear  it  under  my  waist, 
see?" 

Again  Mr.  Ronald  fixed  her  with  his  keen  eyes. 
"  I  see.  You  wear  it  under  your  waist.  Of 
course,  that  explains  why  she  hasn't  noticed  it. 
Yet,  if  you  wear  it  under  your  waist,  how  came 
it  to  get  out  from  under  and  be  on  my  desk?  " 

Martha's  face  did  not  change  beneath  his 
scrutiny.  During  a  rather  long  moment  she  was 
silent,  then  her  answer  came  glibly  enough. 

"  When  I'm  workin'  I'm  ap'  to  get  het-up,  an' 
then  I  sometimes  undoes  the  neck  o'  my  waist,  an' 
turns  it  back  to  give  me  breathin'-room." 

Mr.  Ronald  accepted  it  gravely.     "  Well,  it  is 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  69 

a  very  pretty  locket,  Martha — and  a  very  pretty 
face  inside  it.  Of  course,  as  the  trinket  was  in 
my  room,  and  as  there  was  no  name  or  sign  on  the 
outside  to  identify  it,  I  opened  it.  I  hope  you 
don't  mind." 

"  Certainly  not,"  Martha  assured  him.  "  Cer 
tainly  not!  " 

"  The  inscription  on  the  inside  puzzles  me. 
4  Dear  Daddy,  from  Claire.'  Now,  assuredly, 
you're  not  dear  Daddy,  Martha." 

Mrs.  Slawson  laughed.  "  Not  on  your  life,  I 
ain't  Dear  Daddy,  sir.  Dear  Daddy  was  Judge 
Lang  of  Grand  Rapids — you  know,  where  the  fur- 

nitur'  an'  the  carpet-sweepers  comes  from 

He  died  about  a  year  ago,  an'  Miss  Claire, 
knowin'  how  much  store  I  set  by  her,  an'  how  I'd 
prize  her  picture,  she  give  me  the  locket,  as  you 
see  it." 

'You  say  Grand  Rapids? — the  young  lady, 
Miss  Claire,  as  you  call  her,  lives  in  Grand 
Rapids?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  suppose  you  think  I  am  very  inquisitive, 
asking  so  many  questions,  but  the  fact  is,  I  am 
extremely  interested.  You  will  see  why,  when  I 
explain  that  several  weeks  ago,  one  day  down 
town,!  saw  a  little  girl — a  young  lady — who  might 
have  been  the  original  of  this  very  picture,  the 
resemblance  is  so  marked.  But,  of  course,  if  your 


yo  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

young  lady  lives  in  Grand  Rapids,  she  can't  be 
my  little  girl — I  should  say,  the  young  woman  I 
saw  here  in  New  York  City.  But  if  they  were 
one  and  the  same,  they  couldn't  look  more  alike. 
The  only  difference  I  can  see,  is  that  the  original 
of  your  picture  is  evidently  a  prosperous  '  little 
sister  of  the  rich,'  and  the  original  of  mine — the 
one  I've  carried  in  my  mind — is  a  breadwinner. 
She  was  employed  in  an  office  where  I  had  occa 
sion  to  go  one  day  on  business.  The  next  time  I 
happened  to  drop  in  there — a  few  days  later- 
she  was  gone.  I  was  sorry.  That  office  was  no 
place  for  her,  but  I  would  have  been  glad  to  find 
her  there,  that  I  might  have  placed  her  some 
where  else,  in  a  safer,  better  position.  I  hope  she 
has  come  to  no  harm." 

Martha  hung  fire  a  moment.  Then,  suddenly, 
her  chin  went  up,  as  with  the  impulse  of  a  new 
resolve. 

"  I'll  be  open  an'  aboveboard  with  you,  sir," 
she  said  candidly.  '  The  world  is  certaintly 
small,  an'  the  way  things  happen  is  a  caution. 
Now,  who'd  ever  have  thought  that  you'd  'a' 
seen  my  Miss  Claire,  but  I  truly  believe  you  have. 
For  after  her  father  died  she  come  to  New 
York,  the  poor  lamb!  for  to  seek  her  fortune,  an' 
her  as  innercent  an'  unsuspectin'  as  my  Sabina, 
who's  only  three  this  minit.  She  tried  her  hand 
at  a  lot  o'  things,  an'  thank  God  an'  her  garden- 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  71 

angel  for  keepin'  her  from  harm,  for  as  delicate 
an'  pretty  as  she  is,  she  can't  help  attractin'  at 
tention,  an'  you  know  what  notions  some  as  calls 
themselves  gen'lemen  has,  in  this  town.  Well, 
Miss  Claire  is  livin'  under  my  roof,  an'  you  can 
betcher  life  I'm  on  the  job — relievin'  her  garden- 
angel  o'  the  pertectin'  end  o'  the  business.  But 
Miss  Claire's  that  proud  an'  inderpendent-like  she 
ain't  contented  to  be  idle.  She's  bound  to  make 
her  own  livin',  which,  she  says,  it's  everybody's 
dooty  to  do,  some  ways  or  other.  So  my  eye's 
out,  as  you  might  say,  for  a  place  where  she  can 
teach,  like  she's  qualified  to  do.  Did  I  tell  you, 
she's  a  college  lady,  an'  has  what  she  calls  a  '  de 
gree,'  which  I  didn't  know  before  anythin'  but 
Masons  like  himself  had  'em. 

"  You  oughter  see  how  my  boy  Sammy  gets  his 
lessons,  after  she's  learned  'em  to  him.  She's  a 
wizard  at  managin'  boys.  My  Sammy  useter  to 
be  up  to  all  sorts  o'  mischief.  They  was  a  time 
he  took  to  playin'  hookey.  He'd  march  off 
mornin's  with  his  sisters,  bold  as  brass,  an'  when 
lunchtime  come,  in  he'd  prance,  same  as  them,  an' 
nobody  ever  doubtin'  he  hadn't  been  to  his  school. 
An'  all  the  time,  there  he  was  playin'  in  the  open 
lots  with  a  gang  o'  poor  little  neglected  dagos.  I 
noticed  him  comin'  in  evenin's  kinder  dissipated- 
lookin',  but  I  hadn't  my  wits  about  me  enough 
to  be  onto'm,  till  his  teacher  sent  me  a  note  one 


72  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

day,  by  his  sister  Cora,  askin'  what  was  ailin' 
Sammy.  That  night  somethin'  ailed  Sammy  for 
fair.  He  stood  up  to  his  dinner,  an'  he  wouldn't 
'a'  had  a  cravin'  to  set  down  to  his  breakfast 
next  mornin',  only  Francie  put  a  pilla  in  his  chair. 
But  Miss  Claire,  she's  got  him  so  bewitched,  he'd 
break  his  heart  before  he'd  do  what  she  wouldn't 
like.  The  thought  of  her  goin'  away  makes  him 
sick  to  his  stummick,  the  poor  fella  !  Yet,  it  ain't 
to  be  supposed  anybody  so  smart,  an'  so  good- 
lookin'  as  her,  but  would  be  snapped  up  quick  by 
them  as  has  the  sense  to  see  the  worth  of  her. 
There's  no  question  about  her  gettin'  a  job,  the 
only  worry  /  have  is  her  gettin'  one  that  will  take 
her  away  from  this,  out  of  New  York  City,  where 
I  can't  see  her  oncet  in  a  while.  She's  the  kind 
you'd  miss,  like  you  would  a  front  tooth.  You 
feel  you  can't  get  on  without  her,  an'  true  for 
you,  you  can't.  But,  beggin'  your  pardon,  sir,  for 
keepin'  you  so  long  with  my  talkin'.  If  that's 
all,  I'll  get  to  my  work." 

"  That  is  all,"  said  Mr.  Ronald,  "  except- 
He  rose  and  handed  her  the  locket. 

She  took  it  from  him  with  a  smile  of  perfect 
good-fellowship,  and  passed  from  the  room. 
Once  outside  the  threshold,  with  the  door  closed 
upon  her,  she  drew  a  long,  deep  breath  of  relief. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  that's  over,  an'  I  got  out  of  it 
with  a  whole  skin,"  she  ruminated.  "  Lord,  but 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  73 

I  thought  he  had  me  shoor,  when  he  took  me  up 
about  how  the  thing  got  out  o'  me  dress,  with  his 
gimlet  eyes  never  stirrin'  from  my  face,  an'  me 
tremblin'  like  an  ashpan.  If  I  hadn't  'a'  had  my 
wits  about  me,  I  do'  know  where  I'd  'a'  come  out. 
But  all's  well  that  ends  swell,  as  Miss  Claire 
says,  an'  bless  her  heart,  it's  her  as'll  end  swell,  if 
what  I  done  this  day  takes  root,  an'  I  believe  it 
will." 


CHAPTER  VII 

WHEN  Martha  let  herself  into  her  flat  that 
night,  she  was  welcomed  by  another  be 
side  Flicker. 

"  You  naughty  Martha !  "  whispered  Claire. 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  coming  home  so  late,  all 
tired  out  and  worked  to  death !  It  is  shameful ! 
But  here's  a  good  cup  of  hot  chocolate,  and  some 
big  plummy  buns  to  cheer  you  up.  And  I've  got 
some  good  news  for  you  besides.  I  didn't  mean 
to  tell  right  off,  but  I  just  can't  keep  in  for  an 
other  minute.  I've  got  a  job!  A  fine,  three- 
hundred-dollars-a-year-and-home-and-laundry  job ! 
And  a  raise,  as  soon  as  I  show  I'm  worth  it! 
Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that?  Isn't  it  splen 
did?  Isn't  it— bully?" 

She  had  noiselessly  guided  Martha  into  her 
own  room,  got  her  things  off,  and  seated  her  in  a 
comfortable  Morris  chair  before  the  lighted  oil- 
stove,  from  whose  pierced  iron  top  a  golden  light 
gleamed  cheerily,  reflecting  on  the  ceiling  above 
in  a  curious  pattern. 

"  Be  careful  of  the  chocolate,  it's  burning  hot. 
I  kept  it  simmering  till  I  heard  you  shut  the  vesti 
bule  door.  And O,  yes !  No  danger  in 

74 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  75 

sipping  it  that  way!  But  you  haven't  asked  a 
single  thing  about  my  job.  How  I  came  to  know 
of  it  in  the  first  place,  and  how  I  was  clever 
enough  to  get  it  after  I'd  applied!  You  don't 
look  a  bit  pleased  and  excited  over  it,  you  bad 
Martha !  And  you  ought  to  be  so  glad,  because 
I  won't  need  to  spend  anything  like  all  the  money 
I'll  get.  I'm  to  have  my  home  and  laundry  free, 
and  one  can't  make  many  outside  expenses  in  a 
boarding-school  'way  off  in  Schoharie — and  so  I 
can  send  you  a  lot  and  a  lot  of  dollars,  till  we're 
all  squared  up  and  smoothed  out,  and  you  won't 
have  to  work  so  hard  any  more,  and " 

"  Say  now,  Miss  Claire,  you  certaintly  are  the 
fastest  thing  on  record.  If  you'd  been  born  a 
train,  you'd  been  an  express,  shoor-pop  an'  no 
mistake.  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  hold  on,  pationate 
an'  uncomplainin',  till  I  giv'  you  the  sign?  Didn't 
I  say  I  had  my  eye  on  a  job  for  you  that  was  a  job 
worth  talkin'  about?  One  that'd  be  satisfactry 
all  around.  Well,  then!  An'  here  you  are, 
tellin'  me  about  you  goin'  to  the  old  Harry,  or 
some  such,  with  home  an'  laundry  thrown  in.  Not 
on  your  life  you  ain't,  Miss  Claire,  an'  that  (beg- 
gin'  your  pardon ! )  is  all  there  is  to  it !  " 

"  But,  Martha " 

"  Don't  let's  waste  no  more  words.  The  thing 
ain't  to  be  thought  of." 

"  But,  Martha,  it's  over  two  weeks  since  you 


76  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

said  that,  about  having  an  idea  about  a  certain 
job  for  me  that  was  going  to  be  so  splendid. 
Don't  you  know  it  is?  And  I  thought  it  had 
fallen  through.  I  didn't  like  to  speak  about  it, 
for  fear  you'd  think  I  was  hurrying  you,  but  two 
weeks  are  two  weeks,  and  I  can't  go  on  indefinitely 
staying  here,  and  getting  so  deep  in  debt  I'll  never 
be  able  to  get  out  again.  And  I  saw  this  ad 
vertisement  in  The  Outlook.  'Twas  for  a  col 
lege  graduate  to  teach  High  School  English  in  a 
girls'  boarding-school,  and  I  went  to  the  agency, 
and  they  were  very  nice,  and  told  me  to  write  to 
the  Principal,  and  I  did — told  her  all  about  my 
self,  my  experience  tutoring,  and  all  that,  and  this 
morning  came  the  letter  saying  she'd  engage  me. 
I  can  tell  you  all  about  Schoharie,  Martha.  It's 
*  up-state  '  and— 

"  Miss  Claire,  child,  no!  It  won't  do.  I  can't 
consent.  I  can't  have  you  throwin'  away  golden 
opportoonities  to  work  like  a  toojan  for  them  as'll 
stint  you  in  the  wash,  an'  prob'ly  give  you  oleo- 
margerine  instead  of  butter,  an'  cold-storage  eggs 
that  had  forgot  there  was  such  a  thing  as  a  hen, 
long  before  they  ever  was  laid  away.  I  wasn't 
born  yesterday,  myself,  an'  I  know  how  they  treat 
the  teachers  in  some  o'  them  schools.  The  young- 
lady  scholars,  so  stylish  an'  rich,  as  full  of  airs 
as  a  music-box,  snubbin'  the  teacher  because 
they're  too  ignorant  to  know  how  smart  she  has 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  77 

to  be,  to  get  any  knowledge  into  their  stupid  heads, 
an'  the  Principal  always  eyein'  you  like  a  minx, 
'less  you  might  be  wastin'  her  precious  time  an' 
not  earnin'  the  elegant  sal'ry  she  gives  you,  in- 
cludin'  your  home  an'  laundry.  O  my !  I  know 
a  thing  or  two  about  them  schools,  an'  a  few  other 
places.  No,  Miss  Claire,  dear,  it  won't  do.  An' 
besides,  I  have  you  bespoke  for  Mrs.  Sherman. 
The  last  thing  before  I  come  away  from  the  house 
this  night,  she  sent  for  me  upstairs,  an'  ast  me 
didn't  I  know  some  one  could  engage  with  her  for 
Radcliffe — to  learn  him  his  lessons,  an'  how  to  be 
a  little  lady,  an'  suchlike.  She  wants,  as  you 
might  say,  a  trained  mother  for'm,  while  his  own 
untrained  one  is  out  gallivantin'  the  streets,  shop- 
pin',  an'  playin'  bridge,  an'  attendin'  the  horse- 
show. 

"  I  hemmed  an'  hawed  an'  scratched  my  head 
to  see  if,  happen,  I  did  know  anybody  suitable,  an' 
after  a  while  (not  to  seem  to  make  you  too  cheap, 
or  not  to  look  like  I  was  jumpin'  down  her  throat) 
I  told  her:  '  Curious  enough,  I  do  know  just  the 
one  I  think  will  please  you — if  you  can  get 
her.' 

'  Then  she  ast  me  a  lot  about  you,  an'  I  told 
her  what  I  know,  an'  for  the  rest  I  trusted  to 
Providence,  an'  in  the  end  we  made  a  sorter  deal 
— so's  it's  all  fixed  you're  to  go  there  day  after 
to-morrer,  to  talk  to  her,  an'  let  her  look  you  over. 


78  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

An'  if  you're  the  kind  o'  stuff  she  wants,  she'll 
take  a  half-a-dozen  yards  o'  you,  which  is  the 
kind  o'  way  those  folks  has  with  people  they  pay 
money  to.  I  promised  Mrs.  Sherman  you'd  come, 
an'  I  couldn't  break  my  word  to  her,  now  could  I  ? 
I'd  be  like  to  lose  my  own  job  if  I  did,  an'  I'm 
sure  you  wouldn't  ast  that  o'  me !  " 

"  But,"  said  Claire,  troubled,  "  you  told  me 
Radcliffe  is  so  unmanageable." 

Mrs.  Slawson  devoted  herself  to  her  chocolate 
and  buns  for  a  moment  or  two.  "  O,  never  you 
fear  about  Radcliffe,"  she  announced  at  length. 
"  He's  a  good  little  fella  enough,  as  little  fellas 
goes.  When  you  know  how  to  handle'm — which 
is  right  side  up  with  care.  Him  an'  me  come  to 
an  understandin'  yesterday  mornin',  an'  he's  as 
meek  an'  gentle  as  a  baa-lamb  ever  since.  I'll 
undertake  you'll  have  no  trouble  with  Radcliffe." 

"  Is  this  the  wonderful  plan  you  spoke  of?  Is 
this  the  job  you  said  was  going  to  be  so  satis 
factory  all  'round?  "  inquired  Claire,  her  misgiv 
ings,  in  connection  with  her  prospective  pupil,  by 
no  means  allayed. 

"  Well,  not  eggsackly.  I  can't  say  it  is.  That 
job  will  come  later.  But  we  got  to  be  pationate, 
an'  not  spoil  it  by  upsettin'  our  kettles  o'  fish  with 
boardin'-schools,  an'  such  nonsense.  Meanwhile 
we  can  put  in  time  with  Mrs.  Sherman,  who'll 
pay  you  well,  an'  won't  be  too  skittish  if  you  just 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  79 

keep  a  firm  hand  on  her.  This  mornin'  she  got 
discoursin'  about  everythin'  under  the  canopy, 
from  nickel-plated  bathroom  fixin's,  an'  marble 
slobs,  to  that  state  o'  life  unto  which  it  has  pleased 
God  to  call  me.  She  told  me  just  what  I'd 
oughter  give  my  fam'ly  to  eat,  an'  how  much  I'd 
oughter  pay  for  it,  an' — I  say,  but  wasn't  she 
grand  to  have  give  me  all  that  good  advice 
free?" 

Claire  laughed.  "  She  certainly  was,  and  now 
you've  just  got  to  go  to  bed.  I  don't  dare  look 
at  the  clock,  it's  so  late.  Good-night,  you  good 
Martha !  And  thank  you,  from  way  deep  down, 
for  all  you've  done  for  me." 

But  long  after  Mrs.  Slawson  had  disappearedy 
the  girl  sat  in  the  solitude  of  her  shadowy  room 
thinking — thinking — thinking.  Unable  to  get 
away  from  her  thoughts.  There  was  something 
about  this  plan,  to  which  Martha  had  committed 
her,  that  frightened,  overawed  her.  She  felt  a 
strange  impulse  to  resist  it,  to  follow  her  own 
leading,  and  go  to  the  school  instead.  She  knew 
her  feeling  was  childish.  Suppose  Radcliffe  were 
to  be  unruly,  why,  how  could  she  tell  that  the  girls 
in  the  Schoharie  school  might  not  prove  even  more 
so?  The  fact  was,  she  argued,  she  had  uncon 
sciously  allowed  herself  to  be  prejudiced  against 
Mrs.  Sherman  and  the  boy,  by  Martha's  whim 
sical  accounts  of  them,  good-natured  as  they  were. 


8o  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

And  this  strange,  premonitory  instinct  was  no 
premonitory  instinct  at  all,  it  was  just  the  natural 
reluctance  of  a  shy  nature  to  face  a  new  and  un 
congenial  situation.  And  yet — and  yet — and  yet, 
try  as  she  would,  she  could  not  shake  off  the  im 
pression  that,  beyond  it  all,  there  loomed  some 
thing  a  hidden  inner  sense  made  her  hesitate  to 
approach. 

Just  that  moment,  a  dim,  untraceable  as 
sociation  of  ideas  drew  her  back  until  she  was 
face-to-face  with  a  long-forgotten  incident  in  her 
very-little  girlhood.  Once  upon  a  time,  there  had 
been  a  moment  when  she  had  experienced  much 
the  same  sort  of  feeling  she  had  now — the  feel 
ing  of  wanting  to  cry  out  and  run  away.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  she  had  cried  out  and  run  away. 
Why,  and  from  what?  As  it  came  back  to  her, 
not  from  anything  altogether  terrible.  On  the 
contrary,  something  rather  alluring,  but  so  un 
familiar  that  she  had  shrunk  back  from  it,  pro 
testing,  resisting.  What  was  it?  Claire  sud 
denly  broke  into  a  smothered  little  laugh  and  cov 
ered  her  face  with  her  hands,  before  the  vision 
of  herself,  squawking  madly,  like  a  startled 
chicken,  and  running  away  from  "  big  "  handsome, 
twelve-year-old  Bobby  Van  Brandt,  who  had  just 
announced  to  the  world  at  large,  that  "  he  liked 
Claire  Lang  a  lot,  V  she  was  his  best  girl,  'n'  he 
was  goin'  to  kiss  her."  She  had  been  mortally 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  81 

frightened,  had  screamed,  and  run  away,  but  (so 
unaccountable  is  the  heart  of  woman)  she  had 
never  liked  Bobby  quite  so  well  after  that,  be 
cause  he  had  shown  the  white  feather  and  hadn't 
carried  out  his  purpose,  in  spite  of  her. 

But  if  she  should  scream  and  run  away  nowr 
there  would  be  none  to  pursue.  Her  foolish  out 
burst  would  disturb  no  one.  She  could  cry  and 
cry,  and  run  and  run,  and  there  would  be  no  big 
Bobby  Van  Brandt,  or  any  one  else  to  hear  and 
follow. 

An  actual  echo  of  the  cries  she  had  not  uttered 
seemed  to  mock  her  foolish  musing.  She  paused 
and  listened.  Again  and  again  came  the  muffled 
sounds,  and,  at  last,  so  distinct  they  seemed,  she 
went  to  her  door,  unlatched  it,  and  stood,  listening, 
on  the  threshold. 

From  Martha's  room  rose  a  deep  rumble,  as  of 
a  distant  murmurous  sea. 

"  Mr.  Slawson.  He's  awake.  He  must  have 
heard  the  crying,  too.  O,  it's  begun  again! 
How  awful !  Martha,  what  is  it,  O,  what  is  it?  " 
for  Mrs.  Slawson  had  appeared  in  her  own  door 
way,  and  was  standing,  night-robed  and  ghostly, 
listening  attentively  to  the  intermittent  signs  of 
distress. 

"  It's  that  bloomin'  Dutchman,  Langbein, 
acrost  the  hall.  Every  time  he  goes  on  a  toot,  he 
comes  back  an'  wallops  his  wife  for  it.  Go  to 


82  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

bed,  Miss  Claire,  child,  an'  don't  let  it  worry  you. 
It  ain't  your  funeral." 

Came  the  voice  of  big  Sam  Slawson  from 
within  his  chamber: 

'  Just  what  I  say  to  you,  my  dear.  It  ain't 
your  funeral.  Come  back,  Martha,  an'  go  to 
bed." 

'  Well,  that's  another  pair  o'  shoes,  entirely, 
Sammy,"  whispered  Martha.  "  This  business 
has  been  goin'  on  long  enough,  an'  I  ain't  pro- 
posin'  to  put  up  with  it  no  longer.  Such  a  state  o' 
things  has  nothin'  to  recommend  it.  If  it'd  help 
such  a  poor  ninny  as  Mrs.  Langbein  any  to  beat 
her,  I'd  say,  '  Go  ahead!  Never  mind  us!  '  But 
you  couldn't  pound  sense  inter  a  softy  like  her,  no 
matter  what  you  done.  In  the  first  place,  she  lets 
that  fella  get  away  from  her  evenin's  when,  if 
she'd  an  ounce  o'  sense,  she  could  keep  him  stickin' 
so  close  at  home,  a  capcine  plaster  wouldn't  be  in 
it.  Then,  when  he  comes  home,  a  little  the  worse 
for  wear,  she  ups  an'  reproaches  'm,  which,  God 
knows,  that  ain't  no  time  to  argue  with  a  man. 
You  don't  want  to  argue  with  a  fella  when  he's  so. 
You  just  want  to  telVm.  Tell'm  with  the  help 
of  a  broomstick  if  you  want  to,  but  tell'm,  or 
leave'm  alone.  An'  it's  bad  for  the  childern — all 
this  is — it's  bad  for  Cora  an'  Francie.  What 
idea'll  they  get  o'  the  holy  estate  o'  matrimony,  I 
should  like  to  know?  That  the  man  has  the  upper 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  83 

hand?  That's  a  nice  notion  for  a  girl  to  grow  up 
with,  nowadays.  Hark!  My,  but  he's  givin'  it 
to  her  good  an'  plenty  this  time !  Sammy  Slaw- 
son,  shame  on  ye,  man !  to  let  a  poor  woman  be 
beat  like  that,  an'  never  raise  a  hand  to  save 
your  own  childern  from  bein'  old  maids.  An 
other  scream  outer  her,  an'  I'll  go  in  myself,  in  the 
face  of  you." 

"Now,  Martha,  be  sensible!"  pleaded  Sam 
Slawson.  '  You  can't  break  into  a  man's  house 
without  his  consent." 

"  Can't  I  ?  Well,  just  you  watch  me  close,  an* 
you'll  see  if  I  can't." 

1  You'll  make  yourself  liable  to  the  law.  He's 
her  husband,  you  know.  She  can  complain  to  the 
courts,  if  she's  got  any  kick  comin'.  But  it's  not 
my  business  to  go  interf erin'  between  husband  and 
wife.  '  What  God  hath  joined  together,  let  no 
man  put  asunder.'  ' 

Martha  wagged  an  energetic  assent. 

"Shoor!  That  certaintly  lets  you  out.  But 
there  ain't  no  mention  made  o'  woman  not  bein' 
on  the  job,  is  there?  " 

She  covered  the  narrow  width  of  the  hall  in  a 
couple  of  strides,  and  beat  her  knuckles  smartly 
against  the  panel  of  the  opposite  door. 

By  this  time  the  baluster-railing,  all  the  way  up, 
was  festooned  with  white-clad  tenants,  bending 
over,  looking  down. 


$4  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"  Martha,"  protested  Sam  Slawson,  "  you're  in 
your  nightgown !  You  can't  go  round  like  that ! 
Everybody's  lookin'  at  you !  " 

"  Say,  you — Mr.  Langbein  in  there !  Open  the 
door.  It's  me!  Mrs.  Slawson!  Let  me  in!" 
was  Martha's  only  reply.  Her  keen  ear,  pressed 
against  the  panel,  heard  nothing  in  response  but 
an  oath,  following  another  even  more  ungodly 
sound,  and  then  the  choking  misery  of  a  woman's 
convulsive  sobs. 

Mrs.  Slawson  set  her  shoulder  against  the  door, 
braced  herself  for  a  mighty  effort,  and 

"  Did  you  ever  see  the  like  of  her?  "  muttered 
Sam,  as,  still  busy  fastening  the  garments  he  had 
hurriedly  pulled  on,  he  followed  his  wife  into  the 
Langbeins'  flat,  into  the  Langbeins'  bedroom. 
There  he  saw  her  resolutely  march  up  to  the  irate 
German,  swing  him  suddenly  about,  and  send  him 
crashing,  surprised,  unresisting,  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  room.  For  a  second  she  stood  re 
garding  him  scornfully. 

"  You  poor,  low-lived  Dutchman,  you !  "  she 
brought  out  with  deliberation.  "  What  d'you 
mean  layin'  your  hand  to  a  woman  who  hasn't 
the  stren'th  or  the  spirit  to  turn  to,  an'  lick  you 
back?  Why  don't  you  fight  a  fella  your  own 
size  an' sect?  That's  fair  play !  A  fine  man  you 
are !  A  fine  neighbor  you  are !  Just  let  me  hear 
a  peep  out  of  you,  an'  I'll  thrash  you  this  minit 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  85 

to  within  a  inch  of  your  life.  /  don't  need  no  law 
nor  no  policeman  to  keep  the  peace  in  any  house 
where  I  live.  I  can  keep  the  peace  myself,  if  I 
have  to  lick  every  tenant  in  the  place !  I'm  the 
law  an'  the  policeman  on  my  own  account,  an'  if 
you  budge  from  that  floor  till  I  tell  you  get  up, 
I'll  come  over  there  an'  set  down  on  ye  so  hard, 
your  wife  won't  know  you  from  a  pancake  in 
the  mornin'.  I'll  show  you  the  power  o'  the 
press!  " 

Sam  Slawson  was  no  coward,  but  his  face  was 
pallid  with  consternation  at  Martha's  hardihood. 
His  mighty  bulk,  however,  seeming  to  supplement 
hers,  had  its  effect  on  the  sobered  German.  He 
did  not  attempt  to  rise. 

"  As  to  you,  you  poor  weak  sister,"  said  Mrs. 
Slawson,  turning  to  the  wife,  "  you've  had  your 
last  lickin'  so  long  as  you  live  in  this  house.  Be 
lieve  me!  I'm  a  hard-workin'  woman,  but  I'm 
never  too  tired  or  too  busy  to  come  in  an'  take  a 
round  out  of  your  old  man,  if  he  should  ever  dare 
lay  finger  to  you  again.  /  don't  mind  a  friendly 
scrap  oncet  in  a  while  with  a  neighbor.  My 
muscles  is  good  for  more  than  your  fat,  beer- 
drinkin'  Dutchman's  any  day.  Let  him  up  an' 
try  'em  oncet,  an'  he'll  see.  Why  don't  you  have 
some  style  about  you  an'  land  him  one,  where  it'll 
do  the  most  good,  or  else — leave  him?  But  no, 
you  wouldn't  do  that — I  know  you  wouldn't! 


86  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

Some  women  has  to  cling  to  somethin',  no  matter 
if  they  have  to  support  it  themselves." 

Mrs.  Langbein's  inarticulate  sobbing  had 
passed  into  a  spasmodic  struggle  for  breathless 
utterance. 

"  He — don't  mean — no  harm,  Mis'  Slawson. 
He's  all  right — ven  he's  soper.  Only — it  preaks 
my  heart  ven  he  vips  me,  und  I  don't  deserve  it." 

"  Breaks  your  heart?  It  ain't  your  heart  I'm 
worryin'  about.  If  he  don't  break  your  bones 
you're  in  luck!  " 

"  Und  I  try  to  pe  a  goot  vife  to  him.  I  tend 
him  hand  und  foot." 

'  Ye-es,  I  know  you  do,"  returned  Martha 
dryly.  "  But  suppose  you  just  try  the  foot  in  the 
future.  See  how  it  works." 

"  I  to  my  pest  mit  dryin'  to  pe  a  goot  cook.  I 
geep  his  house  so  glean  as  a  bin.  Vat  I  don't  do, 
Gott  weiss,  I  don't  know  it.  I  ain't  esk  him  for 
ein  tcent  already.  I  ain't  drouble  him  mit  pills 
off  of  de  grocer  oder  de  putcher,  oder  anny-von. 
I  makes  launtry  efery  veek  for  some  liddle  peo 
ples,  und  mit  mine  own  money  I  bays  my  pills. 
Ven  you  dell  me  how  it  iss  I  could  make  eferyting 
more  smoother  for  him,  I  do  it!  " 

'  That's  eggsackly  the  trouble,"  proclaimed 
Mrs.  Slawson  conclusively.  '  You  make  'em  too 
smooth.  You  make  'em  so  smooth,  they're  ack- 
chelly  slippery.  No  wonder  the  poor  fella  falls 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  87 

down.  No  man  wants  to  spend  all  his  life  skatin' 
round,  doin'  fancy-figger  stunts,  because  his  wife's 
a  dummy.  Let'm  get  down  to  hard  earth,  an'  if 
he  kicks,  heave  a  rock  at'm.  He'll  soon  stand  up, 
an'  walk  straight  like  a  little  man.  Let  him 
lend  a  hand  with  the  dooty-business,  for  a  change. 
It'll  take  his  attention  off'n  himself,  give'm  a  rest 
from  thinkin'  he's  an  angel,  an'  that  you  hired  out, 
when  you  married'm,  to  shout  '  Glory !  '  every 
time  he  flaps  a  wing!  That  sort  o'  thing  ain't 
healthy  for  men.  It  don't  agree  with  their  con 
stitutions An'  now,  good-night  to  you,  an' 

may  you  have  sweet  dreams!  Mr.  Langbein,  I 
ain't  the  slightest  objeckshun  to  your  gettin'  up,  if 
you  want  to.  You  know  me  now.  I'm  by  the 
day,  as  you  may  have  heard.  But  I  can  turn  my 
hand  to  an  odd  job  like  this  now  an'  then  by  the 
night,  if  it's  necess'ry,  so  let  me  hear  no  more 
from  you,  sir,  an'  then  we'll  all  be  good  friends, 
like  we're  partin'  now.  Good-night!  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

EFORE  setting  out  for  his  work  the  next 
morning,  Sam  Slawson  tried  to  prepare  Ma 
and  Miss  Lang  for  the  more  than  probable  ap 
pearance,  during  the  day,  of  the  officer  of  the  law, 
he  predicted  Friedrich  Langbein  would  have  en 
gaged  to  prosecute  Martha. 

"  He  has  a  clear  case  against  you,  mother,  no 
doubt  o'  that.  You'd  no  business  in  his  place 
at  all,  let  alone  that  you  assaulted  an'  battered 
him.  He  can  make  it  hot  for  us,  an'  I  don't  doubt 
he  will." 

Mrs.  Slawson  attended  with  undivided  care  to 
the  breakfast  needs  of  such  of  her  flock  as  still 
remained  to  be  fed.  The  youngsters  had  all 
vanished. 

"  If  he  wants  to  persecute  me,  let  him  persecute 
me.  I  guess  I  got  a  tongue  in  my  head.  I  can 
tell  the  judge  a  thing  or  two  which,  bein'  prob'ly 
a  mother  himself,  he'll  see  the  sense  of.  Do  you 
think  I  want  Sammy  growin'  up  under  my  very 
eyes,  a  beer-drinkin'  wife-beater? — because  he 
seen  the  eggsample  of  it  set  before'm  by  a  Dutch 
man,  when  he  was  a  boy?  Such  things  makes  an 
impression  on  the  young — which  they  ain't  sense 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  89 

enough  to  know  the  difference  between  a  eggsam- 
ple  an'  a  warnin'.  An'  the  girls,  too !  As  I  told 
you  las'  night,  it's  bad  for  the  country  when  matri 
mony  ain't  made  to  look  like  a  prize-package,  no 
matter  what  it  reely  is.  What's  goin'  to  become 
o'  the  population,  I  should  like  to  know?  Here's 
Cora  now,  wantin'  to  be  a  telefoam-girl  when  she 
grows  up,  an'  there's  no  knowin'  what  Francie'll 
choose.  But  you  can  take  it  from  me,  they'll  both 
of  'em  drop  their  votes  for  the  single  life.  They'll 
perfer  to  thump  a  machine  o'  their  own,  with 
twelve  or  fifteen  per,  comin'  to  'em,  rather  than 
be  the  machine  that's  thumped,  an'  pay  for  the 
privilege  out'n  their  own  pockets  besides." 

As  fate  would  have  it,  the  day  went  placidly  by, 
in  spite  of  Mr.  Slawson's  somber  prognostica 
tions.  No  one  came  to  disturb  the  even  tenor 
of  its  way.  Then,  at  eveningfall,  while  Martha 
was  still  absent,  there  was  a  gentle  rap  upon  the 
door,  and  Claire,  anxious  to  anticipate  Ma,  made 
haste  to  answer  it,  and  saw  a  stranger  standing 
on  the  threshold.  It  was  difficult,  at  first,  to  dis 
tinguish  details  in  the  dusk  of  the  dim  hallway, 
but  after  a  moment  she  made  out  the  rotund 
figure  of  Mr.  Langbein.  She  could  not  see  his 
face,  but  his  voice  was  more  than  conciliatory. 

"  Eggscoose  me,  lady!"  he  began  apologeti 
cally.  "  I  haf  for  Mis'  Slawson  a  liddle  bresent 
here.  I  tink  she  like  it.  She  look  so  goot- 


90  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

netchered,  und  I  know  she  iss  kind  to  bum  animals. 
My  vife,  her  Maltee  cat  vas  having  some  liddle 
kittens  already,  a  mont'  ago.  I  tink  Mis'  Slaw- 
son,  she  lige  to  hef  von  off  dem  pussies,  ja  ?  Anny- 
how,  I  bring  her  von  here,  und  I  esk  you  vill  gif 
it  to  her  mit  my  tanks,  und  my  kint  regarts,  und 
pest  vishes  und  annyting  else  you  tink  I  could  do 
for  her.  You  tell  Mis'  Slawson  I  lige  her  to 
esk  me  to  do  someting  whenefer  she  needs  it — 
yes?" 

"  Now  what  do  you  think  of  that?  "  was  Mar 
tha's  only  comment,  when  Claire  related  the  in 
cident,  and  great  Sam  Slawson  shook  with 
laughter  till  his  sides  ached,  and  a  fit  of  coughing 
set  in,  and  said  it  was  "  a  caution,  but  Mother 
always  did  have  a  winning  way  about  her  with  the 
men." 

"  It's  well  I  have,  or  I  wouldn't  'a'  drew  you, 
Sammy — an'  you  shoor  are  a  trump — only  I 
wisht  you'd  get  rid  o'  that  cough—  Ycu  had 
it  just  about  long  enough,"  Martha  responded, 
half  in  mockery,  half  in  affectionate  earnest. 

"  An'  now,  me  lad,  leave  us  be,  me  an'  Miss 
Claire.  We  has  things  of  importance  to  talk 
over.  It's  to-morrow  at  ten  she's  to  go  see  Mrs. 
Sherman.  Miss  Claire,  you  must  be  lookin'  your 
best,  for  the  first  minit  the  madam  claps  eyes  to 
you,  that'll  be  the  decidin'  minit  for  you.  Have 
you  everything  you  need,  ready  to  your  hand?  Is 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  91 

all  your  little  laces  an'  frills  done  up  fresh  an' 
tidy,  so's  you  can  choose  the  becomingest? 
Where's  that  lace  butterfly  for  your  neck,  I  like 
so  much?  I  washed  it  as  careful  as  could  be,  a 
couple  o'  weeks  ago,  but  have  you  wore  it  since?  " 

Claire  hesitated.  "  I  think  I'll  put  on  the 
simplest  things  I've  got,  Martha,"  she  replied 
evasively.  "  Just  one  of  my  linen  shirtwaists, 
with  the  stiff  collar  and  cuffs.  No  fluffy  ruffles  at 
all." 

"  But  that  scrap  o'  lace  at  your  throat,  ain't 
fluffy  ruffles.  An'  stiff,  starched  things  don't 
kinder  become  you,  Miss  Claire.  They  ain't  your 
style.  You  don't  wanter  look  like  you  been 
dressed  by  your  worst  enemy,  do  you?  You're  so 
little  an'  dainty,  you  got  to  have  delicate  things 
to  go  with  you.  Say,  just  try  that  butterfly  on 
you  now.  I  want  to  see  if  it'll  do,  all  right." 

By  this  time  Claire  knew  Martha  well  enough 
to  realize  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to  temporize 
or  evade. 

"  I  can't  wear  the  butterfly,  Martha  dear,"  she 
said. 

"Why  can't  you?" 

"  Well,  now  please,  please  don't  worry,  but  I 
can't  wear  it,  because  I  can't  find  it.  I  dare  say 
it'll  turn  up  some  day  when  I  least  expect,  but  just 
now,  it  seems  to  be  lost." 

Martha  looked  grave.     "  It  come  out  o'  the 


92  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

wash  all  right,  didn't  it?  "  she  inquired  anxiously. 
"  I  remember  distinkly  leavin'  it  soak  in  the  suds, 
so's  there  wouldn't  be  no  strain-like,  rubbin'  it,  an' 
the  dust'd  just  drop  out  natural.  But  now  I 
come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't  recklect  ironin'  it. 
Now  honest,  did  it  come  outer  the  wash,  Miss 
Claire?" 

"  No,  Martha— but " 

"  There  ain't  no  but  about  it.  I  musta  gone 
an'  lost  your  pretty  lace  for  you,  an'  it  was  reel 
at  that!" 

"Never  mind!  It's  of  no  consequence. 
Truly,  please  don't 

"  Worry?  Shoor  I  won't  worry.  What's  the 
use  worryin'?  But  I'll  make  it  right,  you  betcher 
life,  which  is  much  more  to  the  purpose.  Say,  I 
shouldn't  wonder  but  it  got  into  the  tub  someways, 
an'  then,  when  I  let  the  water  out,  the  suckage 
drew  it  down  the  pipe.  Believe  me,  that's  the 
very  thing  that  happened,  and — '  I'll  never  see 
sweet  Annie  any  more !  ' 

"  It  doesn't  make  a  particle  of  difference,  Mar 
tha.  I  never  liked  that  butterfly  as  much  as  you 
did,  you  know." 

"  Perhaps  you  did  an'  perhaps  you  didn't,  but 
all  the  same  you're  out  a  neck-fixin',  an'  it's  my 
fault,  an'  so  you're  bound  to  let  me  get  square,  to 
save  my  face,  Miss  Claire.  You  see  how  it  is, 
don't  you?  Well,  last  Christmas,  Mrs.  Granville 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  93 

she  give  me  a  lace  jabbow — reel  Irish  mull  an' 
Carrickmacross  (that's  lace  from  the  old  country, 
as  you  know  as  well  as  me).  She  told  me  all 
about  it.  Fine?  It'd  break  your  heart  to  think 
o'  one  o'  them  poor  innercent  colleens  over  there 
pricklin'  her  eyes  out,  makin'  such  grandjer  for 
the  like  o'  me,  when  no  doubt  she  thought  she  was 
doin'  it  for  some  great  dame,  would  be  sportin' 
it  out  loud,  in  her  auta  on  Fifth  Avenoo.  What 
use  have  I,  in  my  business,  for  that  kinder  dec 
oration,  I  should  like  to  know!  It'd  only  be 
distractin'  me,  gettin'  in  me  pails  when  I'm  scrub- 
bin'.  An'  by  the  time  Cora  an'  Francie  is  grown 
up,  jabbows  will  be  out.  I'd  much  more  use  for 
the  five-dollar-bill  was  folded  up  in  the  box  along 
side.  That,  now,  was  becomin'  to  my  peculiar 
style  o'  beauty.  But  the  jabbow!  There  ain't 
no  use  talkin',  Miss  Claire,  you'll  have  to  take 
it  off'n  my  hands,  I  mean  my  chest,  an'  then  we'll 
be  quits  on  the  butterfly  business,  an'  no  thanks 
to  your  nose  on  either  side." 

It  was  useless  to  protest. 

The  next  morning  when  Claire  started  forth  to 
beard  the  lioness  in  her  den,  she  was  tricked  out 
in  all  the  bravery  of  Martha's  really  beautiful 
"  jabbow,"  and  looked  "  as  pretty  as  a  picture,  an' 
then  some,"  as  Mrs.  Slawson  confidentially  as 
sured  Sam. 

But  the  heart  beneath  the  frilly  lace  and  mull 


94  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

was  anything  but  brave.  It  felt,  in  fact,  quite  as 
white  and  fluttery  as  the  jabbow  looked,  and  when 
Claire  found  herself  being  actually  ushered  into 
the  boudoir  of  the  august  presence,  and  told  to 
"  wait  please,"  she  thought  it  would  stop  alto 
gether  for  very  abject  fright. 

Martha  had  tried,  in  a  sort  of  casual,  matter- 
of-course  way,  to  prepare  her  little  lady  for  the 
trial,  by  dropping  hints  every  now  and  then,  as 
to  the  best  methods  of  dealing  with  employers — 
the  proper  way  to  carry  oneself,  when  one  "  went 
to  live  out  in  private  fam'lies." 

"  You  see,  you  always  been  the  private  fam'ly 
yourself,  Miss  Claire,  so  it'll  come  kinder  strange 
to  you  first-off,  to  look  at  things  the  other  way. 
But  it  won't  be  so  bad  after  you  oncet  get  used 
to  it.  There's  one  thing  it's  good  to  remember. 
Them  high-toned  folks  has  somehow  got  it  fixed 
in  their  minds  that  the  rich  must  not  be  annoyed, 
so  it'll  be  money  in  your  pocket,  as  the  sayin'  is, 
if  you  can  do  your  little  stunt  without  makin'  any 
fuss  about  it,  or  drawin'  their  attention.  Just 
saw  wood  an'  say  nothin',  as  my  husband  says. 

"  Mrs.  Sherman  she  told  me,  when  I  first  went 
there,  an'  Radcliffe  was  a  little  baby,  she  *  strickly 
forbid  anybody  to  touch'm.'  It  was  on  account 
o'  what  she  called  germs  or  somethin'.  Well,  I 
never  had  no  particular  yearnin'  to  inflect  him 
with  none  o'  my  germs,  but  when  she  was  off  galli- 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  95 

vantin',  an'  that  poor  little  lonesome  fella  used  to 
cry,  an'  put  out  his  arms  to  be  took,  I'd  take'm, 
an'  give'm  the  only  reel  mother-huggin'  he  ever 
had  in  his  life,  an'  no  harm  to  any  of  us — to  me 
that  give  it,  or  him  that  got  it,  or  her  that  was 
no  wiser.  Then,  later,  when  he  was  four  or  five, 
an'  around  that,  she  got  a  notion  he  was  a  angel- 
child,  an'  she'd  useter  go  about  tellin'  the  help,  an' 
other  folks,  '  he  must  be  guided  by  love  alone.' 
I  remember  she  said  oncet  he'd  be  '  as  good  as  a 
kitten  for  hours  at  a  time  if  you  only  give'm  a 
ball  of  twine  to  play  with.'  Well,  his  nurse,  she 
give'm  the  ball  of  twine  one  day  when  she  had 
somethin'  doin'  that  took  up  all  her  time  an'  at 
tention  on  her  own  account,  an'  when  she  come 
back  from  her  outin',  you  couldn't  walk  a  step 
in  the  house  without  breakin'  your  leg  (the  nurse 
she  did  sprain  her  ankle),  on  account  o'  the 
cat's-cradle  effect  the  young  villain  had  strung 
acrost  the  halls,  an'  from  one  doorknob  to  the 
other,  so  there  wasn't  an  inch  o'  the  place  free. 
An'  he'd  got  the  tooth-paste  toobs,  an'  squoze  out 
the  insides,  an'  painted  over  every  bit  o'  mahogany 
he  could  find — doors,  an'  furnitur',  an'  all.  You 
can  take  it  from  me,  that  house  was  a  sight  after 
the  angel-child  got  through  with  it.  The  girls 
an'  me — the  whole  push — was  workin'  like  mad 
clearin'  up  after'm  before  the  madam'd  come 
home,  an'  the  nurse  cryin'  her  eyes  out  for  the 


.96  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

pain,  an'  scared  stiff  'less  she'd  be  sent  packin'. 
Also,  '  if  Radcliffe  asked  questions,  we  was  to  an 
swer  them  truthful,'  was  another  rule.  An'  the 
puzzles  he'd  put  to  you !  One  day,  I  remember, 
he  got  me  cornered  with  a  bunch  that  was  such 
fierce  propositions,  Solomon  in  all  his  glory 
couldn't  'a'  give  him  their  truthful  answers.  Says 
he — Radcliffe,  not  Solomon — says  he :  '  I  want  an 
other  leg.' 

'  You  can't  have  it,'  says  I. 

"'Why?'  says  he. 

"  '  They  ain't  pervided,'  I  says.     '  Little  boys 
that's  well-reggerlated,  don't  have  but  two  legs.' 

'"Why  don't  they?' 

" '  Because    God    thought    two    was    enough 
for'm.' 

'"  Why  did  God  think  tho?' 

"  '  You  ask  too  many  questions.' 

"  '  Well,  but — juth  lithen — I  want  to  know — 
now  lithen — doth  puthy-caths  lay  eggth?  ' 

"'No!' 

"  '  Why  don't  puthy-caths  lay  eggth?  ' 
'  Because  hens  has  a  corner  on  the  egg  busi 


ness. 

U    I 


Why  have  they?  ' 
'  Because  they're  born  lucky,  like  Mr.  Car 
negie  an'  Mr.  Rockefella.' 

" '  Doth     Mr.     Carnegie     an'     Mr.     Rocke 
fella ' 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  97* 


'"Why  don't  they?' 

"  '  Say,  Radclifte,  I  ain't  had  a  hard  day,'  says 
I.  '  But  you  make  me  tired.' 

"  '  Why  do  I?  Now  —  juth  wonth  more  —  now 
—  now  lithen  wonth  more  —  ith  God  a  lady?  ' 

As  Claire  sat  waiting  for  Mrs.  Sherman,  stray 
scraps  of  recollection,  such  as  these,  flitted 
through  her  mind  and  helped  to  while  the  time 
away.  Then,  as  she  still  waited,  she  grew 
gradually  more  composed,  less  unfamiliar  with 
her  surroundings,  and  the  strange  predicament  in 
which  she  found  herself.  She  could,  at  length, 
look  at  the  door  she  supposed  led  into  Mrs.  Sher 
man's  room,  without  such  a  quick  contraction  of 
the  heart  as  caused  her  breath  to  come  in  labored 
gasps,  could  make  some  sort  of  sketchy  outline  of 
the  part  she  was  foreordained  to  take  in  the  com 
ing  interview,  and  not  find  herself  barren  of  re 
source,  even  if  Mrs.  Sherman  should  say  so-and- 
so,  instead  of  so-and-so. 

She  had  waited  so  long,  had  had  such  ample 
time  to  get  herself  well  in  hand,  that  when,  at 
last,  a  door  opened  (not  Mrs.  Sherman's  door  at 
all,  but  another),  and  a  tall,  upright  masculine 
figure  appeared  in  the  doorway,  she  at  once 
jumped  to  the  conclusion  it  was  Shaw,  the  butler, 
come  to  summon  her  into  the  presence,  and  rose 
to  follow,  without  too  much  inner  perturbation. 


98  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"  Mrs.  Sherman  is  prevented  from  keeping  her 
appointment  with  you  this  morning,"  descended  to 
her  from  an  altitude  far  above  her  own.  "  She 
hopes  you  will  excuse  her.  She  has  asked  me  to 
talk  with  you  in  her  stead.  You  are  Miss  Lang, 
I  believe?  I  am  Mrs.  Sherman's  brother.  My 
name  is  Ronald." 


CHAPTER  IX 

IT  is  hard  to  readjust  all  one's  prearranged 
plans  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  Claire  felt 
as  if  she  had  received  a  sudden  dash  of  cold 
water  square  in  the  face.  She  quite  gulped  from 
the  shock  of  it.  How  in  the  world  was  she  to 
adapt  herself  to  this  brand-new  set  of  conditions 
on  such  short  notice — on  no  notice  at  all?  How 
was  she  to  be  anything  but  awkwardly  mono 
syllabic? 

"  Sit  down,  please." 

Obediently  she  sat. 

"  Martha — Mrs.  Slawson — tells  me,  your 
father  was  Judge  Lang  of  Michigan?  " 

"  Yes— Grand  Rapids." 

"  You  are  a  college  graduate?  " 

"  Wellesley." 
'  You  have  taught  before?  " 

"  I  tutored  a  girl  throughout  a  whole  sum 
mer.  Prepared  her  for  her  college  entrance 
exams." 

"  She  passed  creditably?  " 

"  She  wasn't  conditioned  in  anything." 

"  How  are  you  on  discipline?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

99 


ioo  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"You  have  had  no  experience?  Never  tried 
your  hand  at  training  a  boy,  for  example?  " 

Claire's  blue-gray  eyes  grew  suddenly  auda 
cious,  and  the  bridge  of  her  short  nose  wrinkled  up 
delightfully  in  a  roguish  smile. 

"  I  trained  my  father.  He  was  a  dear  old  boy 
— the  dearest  in  the  world.  He  used  to  say  he 
had  never  been  brought  up,  until  I  came  along. 
He  used  to  say  I  ruled  him  with  a  rod  of  iron. 
But  he  was  very  well-behaved  before  I  got  through 
with  him.  He  was  quite  a  model  boy,  really." 

Glancing  quickly  up  into  the  steadfast  eyes  that 
had,  at  first,  seemed  to  her  so  stern  as  to  be  al 
most  forbidding,  she  met  an  expression  so  mild, 
so  full  of  winning  kindness,  that  she  suddenly 
remembered  and  understood  what  Martha  had 
meant  when  she  said  once:  "  A  body  wouldn't  call 
the  queen  her  cousin  when  he  looks  at  you  like 
that!" 

"  Your  father  was  a  credit  to  your  bringing-up, 
certainly.  I  never  had  the  honor  of  meeting 
Judge  Lang,  but  I  knew  him  by  reputation.  I 
remember  to  have  heard  some  one  say  of  him 
once — '  He  was  a  judge  after  Socrates'  own  heart. 
He  heard  courteously,  he  answered  wisely,  he  con 
sidered  soberly,  he  decided  impartially.  Added 
to  this,  he  was  one  whom  kings  could  not  cor 
rupt.'  That  is  an  enviable  record." 

Claire's  eyes  filled  with  grateful  moisture,  but 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  101 

she  did  not  allow  them  to  overflow.  She  nodded 
rapidly  once  or  twice  in  a  quaint,  characteristic 
little  fashion,  and  then  sat  silent,  examining  the 
links  in  her  silver-meshed  purse,  with  elaborate  at 
tention. 

"  Perhaps  Mrs.  Slawson  has  told  you  that  my 
young  nephew  is  something  of  a  pickle." 

The  question  restored  Claire  at  once.  "  I'm 
fond  of  pickles." 

"Good!  I  believe  there  are  said  to  be  fifty- 
eight  varieties.  Are  you  prepared  to  smack  your 
lips  over  him,  whichever  he  may  be?  " 

"  Well,  if  I  can't  smack  my  lips,  there's  always 
the  alternative  of  smacking  him." 

Mr.  Ronald  laughed.  "  Not  allowed,"  he  an 
nounced  regretfully.  "  My  sister  won't  have  it. 
Radcliffe  is  to  be  guided  '  by  love  alone.'  ' 

"  Whose  love,  please?     His  or  mine?  " 

Again  Mr.  Ronald  laughed.  "  Now  you've 
got  me !  "  he  admitted.  "  Perhaps  a  little  of 
both.  Do  you  think  you  could  supply  your 
share?  I  have  no  doubt  of  your  being  able  to 
secure  his." 

''  I  like  children.  We've  always  managed  to 
hit  it  off  pretty  well,  the  kiddies  and  I,  but,  of 
course,  I  can't  guarantee  anything  definite  in  con 
nection  with  your  little  boy,  because,  you  see,  I've 
never  been  a  governess  before.  I've  only  had  to 
do  with  youngsters  who've  come  a-visiting,  or  else 


102  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

the  small,  lower  East-siders  at  the  Settlement. 
But  I'll  promise  to  do  my  best." 

"  '  Who  does  the  best  his  circumstance  allows, 
does  well,  acts  nobly.  Angles  could  no  more,'  as 
I  wrote  in  my  sister's  autograph-album  when  I  was 
a  boy,"  announced  Mr.  Ronald  gravely. 

Claire  smiled  over  at  him  with  appreciation. 
"  I'd  love  to  come  and  try,"  she  said  heartily. 

She  did  not  realize  she  had  lost  all  sensation 
of  alarm,  had  forgotten  her  altered''position,  that 
she  was  no  longer  one  whom  these  people  would 
regard  as  their  social  equal.  She  was  talking  as 
one  talks  to  a  friend. 

"  And  if  Radcliffe  doesn't  get  on — if  he  doesn't 
improve,  I  should  say — if  you  don't  like  me,  you 
can  always  send  me  away,  you  know." 

For  a  very  long  moment  Mr.  Ronald  sat  silent. 
So  long  a  moment,  indeed,  that  Claire,  waiting  in 
growing  suspense  for  his  answer,  suddenly  re 
membered  all  those  things  she  had  forgotten,  and 
her  earlier  embarrassment  returned  with  a  wave 
of  bitter  self-reproach.  She  accused  herself  of 
having  been  too  free.  She  had  overstepped  her 
privilege.  It  was  not  apparent  to  her  that  he  was 
trying  to  visualize  the  picture  she  had  drawn,  the 
possibility  of  his  not  liking  her  and  sending  her 
away,  you  know,  and  that,  to  his  utter  consterna 
tion,  he  found  it  was  something  he  could  not  in  the 
least  conceive  of  himself  as  doing.  That,  on  the 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  103 

contrary,  the  vision  of  her  going  away  for  any 
reason,  of  her  passing  out  of  his  life,  now  she  had 
once  stepped  into  it,  left  him  with  a  chill  sensation 
in  the  cardiac  region  that  was  as  unexpected  as  it 
was  disturbing.  When  he  spoke  at  last,  it  was 
with  a  quick,  authoritative  brevity  that  seemed 
to  Claire  to  bear  out  her  apprehension,  and  prove 
he  thought  she  had  forgotten  her  place,  her  new 
place  as  "  hired  help,"  and  must  be  checked  lest 
she  presume  on  good  nature  and  take  a  tone  to 
her  employers  that  was  not  to  be  tolerated. 

'  You  will  come  without  fail  on  Monday  morn- 
ing." 

"  Very  well." 

Her  manner  was  so  studiously  cold  and  cere 
monious,  so  sharply  in  contrast  with  her  former 
piquant  friendliness,  that  Mr.  Ronald  looked  up 
in  surprise. 

"  It  is  convenient  for  you  to  come  on  Monday, 
I  hope?" 

"  Perfectly." 

"  I  presume  my  sister,  Mrs.  Sherman,  will 
take  up  with  you  the  question  of — er — compensa 
tion." 

"  O "  quickly,  with  a  little  shudder,  "  that's 

all  right!" 

"  If  it  isn't  all  right,  it  shall  be  made  so,"  said 
Mr.  Ronald  cordially. 

Claire  winced.     "  It  is  quite,  it  is  perfectly  all 


io4  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

right!  "  she  repeated  hurriedly,  anxious  to  escape 
the  distasteful  subject,  still  smarting  under  the 
lash  of  her  own  self-condemnation — her  own 
wounded  pride. 

How  could  she  have  forgotten,  even  for  a  mo 
ment,  that  she  was  no  longer  in  a  position  to  deal 
with  these  people  on  equal  terms?  That  now, 
kindness  on  their  part  meant  patronage,  on  hers 
presumption.  Of  course,  she  deserved  the  snub 
she  had  received.  But,  all  the  same,  it  hurt!  O, 
but  it  hurt !  She  knew  her  George  Eliot  well.  It 
was  a  pity  she  did  not  recall  and  apply  a  certain 
passage  in  Maggie  Tulliver's  experience. 

"  It  did  not  occur  to  her  that  her  irritation  was 
due  to  the  pleasanter  emotion  which  preceded  it, 
just  as  when  we  are  satisfied  with  a  sense  of  glow 
ing  warmth,  an  innocent  drop  of  cold  water  may 
fall  upon  us  with  a  sudden  smart." 

Mr.  Ronald,  searching  her  face  for  some  clue 
to  the  abrupt  change  in  her  voice  and  manner, 
saw  her  cheeks  grow  white,  her  lips  and  chin 
quiver  painfully. 

'You  are  not  well?"  he  asked,  after  a  sec 
ond  of  troubled  groping  in  the  dark. 

"  O,  perfectly."  She  recollected  Martha's  in 
junction,  "  Never  you  let  on  to  'em,  any  of  your 
worries.  The  rich  must  not  be  annoyed,"  and 
pulled  herself  together  with  a  determined  mental 
grip. 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  105 

"  It  is  good  that,  being  so  far  away  from  home, 
you  can  be  under  the  care  of  your  old  nurse,"  ob 
served  Mr.  Ronald  thoughtfully. 

"  My  old  nurse,"  Claire  mechanically  re 
peated,  preoccupied  with  her  own  painful  medi 
tations. 

"  Martha.  It  is  good,  it  certainly  must  be  com 
forting  to  those  who  care  for  you,  to  know  you 
are  being  looked  after  by  so  old  and  trusted  a 
family  servant." 

Claire  did  not  reply.  She  was  hardly  con 
scious  he  was  speaking. 

"  When  Martha  first  mentioned  you  to  me — to 
Mrs.  Sherman,  rather — she  described  you  as  her 
young  lady.  She  has  a  very  warm  feeling  for 
you.  I  think  she  considers  you  in  the  light  of 
personal  property,  like  a  child  of  her  own.  That's 
excusable — it's  commendable,  even,  in  such  a  case 
as  this.  I  believe  she  said  she  nursed  you  till  you 
were  able  to  walk." 

With  a  shock  of  sudden  realization,  Claire 
waked  to  the  fact  that  something  was  wrong  some 
where — something  that  it  was  up  to  her  to  make 
right  at  once.  And  yet,  it  was  all  so  cloudy,  so 
confused  in  her  mind  with  her  duty  to  Martha, 
her  duty  to  herself,  and  to  these  people — her  fear 
of  being  again  kindly  but  firmly  put  back  in  her 
place  if  she  ventured  the  merest  fraction  of  an 
inch  beyond  the  boundary  prescribed  by  this 


io6  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

grandee  of  the  autocratic  bearing  and  "  keep-off- 
the-grass  expression,"  that  she  hesitated,  and  her 
opportunity  was  lost. 

"  I  think  I  must  go  now,"  she  announced 
abruptly,  and  rose,  got  past  him  somehow,  and 
made  blindly  for  the  door.  Then  there  was  the 
dim  vista  of  the  long  hall  stretching  before  her, 
like  a  path  of  escape,  and  she  fled  its  length,  and 
down  that  of  the  staircase.  Then  out  at  the 
street-door,  and  into  the  chill  of  the  cold  Decem 
ber  noonday. 

When  she  had  vanished,  Francis  Ronald  stood 
a  moment  with  eyes  fixed  in  the  direction  she  had 
taken.  Then,  abruptly,  he  seized  the  telephone 
that  stood  upon  the  table  beside  him,  switched  it 
to  connect  with  the  basement  region,  and  called 
for  Mrs.  Slawson. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Ronald  speaking.  Is  Martha 
there?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  Please  hold  the  wire,  and  I'll  call 
her." 

"Be  quick!" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

A  second,  and  Martha's  voice  repeated  his 
name.  "  Mr.  Ronald,  this  is  Martha!" 

"  Good !  I  want  you  to  put  on  your  things  at 
once,  and  follow  Miss  Lang,"  he  directed  briefly. 
"  I  do  not  think  she's  sick,  but  as  she  was  talking 
to  me,  I  noticed  she  grew  suddenly  quite  pale,  and 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  107 

seemed  troubled  and  anxious.  Waste  no  time! 
Go  at  once !  " 

The  only  answer  was  a  sharp  click  over  the 
wire,  as  Mrs.  Slawson  snapped  the  receiver  into 
its  crotch. 

But  though  Claire  was  not  five  minutes  in  ad 
vance  of  her,  Martha  was  unable  to  make  up  the 
distance  between  them,  and  by  the  time  she  had 
mounted  the  stairs  leading  to  the  Elevated,  and 
stood  panting  for  breath  on  the  platform,  the  train 
she  had  hoped  to  catch  was  to  be  seen  disappear 
ing  around  the  curve  at  Fifty-third  Street. 

All  the  way  uptown  she  speculated  as  to  the 
why  and  wherefore  of  Mr.  Ronald's  immediate 
concern  about  Claire. 

"  It's  kinder  previous,  his  gettin'  so  stirred  up 
over  her  at  this  stage  o'  the  game,"  she  pondered. 
"  It  ain't  natural,  or  it  ain't  lucky.  I'd  much 
liefer  have  it  go  slower,  an'  be  more  thora.  A 
thing  like  this  affair  I'm  tryin'  to  menoover,  is  like 
some  o'  the  things  you  cook.  You  want  to  leave 
'em  get  good  an'  het-up  before  the  stirrin'  begins. 
If  they're  stirred  up  too  soon,  they're  ap'  to 
cruddle  on  you,  an'  never  get  that  nice,  smooth, 
thick,  gooey  look  you  like  to  see  in  rich  custuds, 
same  as  love-affairs.  I  hope  she  didn't  go  an' 
have  a  scare  on,  an'  give  'em  to  think  she  ain't 
healthy.  She's  as  sound  as  a  nut,  but  if  Mis' 
Sherman  once  is  fixed  with  the  notion  she's  sub- 


io8  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

jeck  to  faint-spells,  nothin'  on  earth  will  change 
her  mind,  an'  then  it'll  be  nit,  not,  nohow  for 
Martha's  little  scheme.  I  must  caution  Miss 
Claire  about  showin'  the  white  feather.  No  mat 
ter  how  weak-kneed  she  feels,  she's  just  got  to 
buck  up  an'  ack  like  she's  a  soldier.  That's 
how " 

Martha  had  reached  her  own  street,  and  was 
turning  the  corner,  when  she  stopped  with  a  sen 
sation  as  of  a  quick,  fierce  clutching  at  her  heart. 
Evidently  there  had  been  some  sort  of  accident, 
for  a  great  crowd  was  gathered  on  the  sidewalk, 
and  beside  the  gutter-curbstone,  just  ahead  of  her, 
stood  waiting  an  ambulance.  Her  healthy,  nor 
mal  mind  did  not  easily  jump  at  tragic  conclusions. 
She  did  not,  as  a  general  thing,  fear  the  worst, 
did  not  even  accept  it  when  it  came,  but  now,  some 
how,  a  close  association  of  ideas  suggested  Claire 
in  an  instant,  and  before  ever  she  had  stirred  a 
step,  she  saw  in  her  mind's  eye  the  delicate  little 
form  she  loved,  lying  injured,  maybe  mangled, 
stretched  out  upon  the  asphalt,  in  the  midst  of  the 
curious  throng. 

She  hurried,  hurried  faster  than  any  of  the 
others  who  were  also  hurrying,  and  pushed  her 
way  on  through  the  press  to  the  very  edge  of  the 
crowd.  A  crying  woman  caught  wildly  at  her 
arm,  as  she  stood  for  a  second  struggling  to  ad 
vance. 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  109 

"It's  a  child! — A  little  girl — run  over  by  an 
automobile!  O  God  help  the  poor  mother!'' 
the  stranger  sobbed  hysterically. 

Martha  freed  herself  from  the  clinging  fingers 
and  pressed  forward.  "  A  child — Miss  Claire's 
such  a  little  thing,  no  wonder  they  think  she's  a 
child,"  she  murmured.  "  True  for  you,  my  good 
woman,  God  help  the  poor  mother!  " 

"You  know  her?" 

"  I  know  Miss  Claire." 

For  some  reason  the  crowd  made  way,  and  let 
her  through  to  the  very  heart  of  it,  and  there — 
sure  enough,  there  was  Claire,  but  Claire  crying 
and  kneeling  over  an  outstretched  little  form, 
lying  unconscious  on  the  pavement. 

"  Why,  it's — my  Francie !  "  said  Martha 
quietly. 


CHAPTER  X 

THROUGH  all  the  days  of  suspense  and 
doubt,  Claire  swung  like  a  faithful  little 
pendulum  between  home,  the  Shermans,  and  the 
hospital. 

Then,  as  hope  strengthened,  she  was  the  bearer 
of  gifts,  flowers,  fruit,  toys  from  Mr.  Ronald 
and  his  sister,  which  Martha  acknowledged  in  her 
own  characteristic  fashion. 

"  Tell'm  the  Slawson  fam'ly  is  bound  to  be  in  it. 
It  seems  it's  the  whole  style  for  ladies  to  go  under 
a  operation,  an'  as  I  ain't  eggsackly  got  the  time, 
Francie,  she's  keepin'  up  the  tone  for  us.  If  you 
wanter  folia  the  fashions  these  days,  you  got  to 
gather  your  skirts  about  you,  tight  as  they  are,  an' 
run.  But  what's  a  little  inconvenience,  compared 
with  knowin'  you're  cuttin'  a  dash ! 

"  Tell'm  I  thank'm,  an'  tell  Lor'— Mister  Ron 
ald,  it's  good  of'm  to  be  tryin'  to  get  damages  for 
Francie  out  o'  the  auta  that  run  her  down,  an' 
if  there  was  somethin'  comin'  to  us  to  pay  the  doc 
tors  an'  suchlike,  it'd  be  welcome.  But,  somehow, 
I  always  was  shy  o'  monkeyin'  with  the  law.  It's 
like  to  catch  a  body  in  such  queer  places,  where 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  in 

you'd  least  expect.  Before  a  fella  knows  it,  he's 
up  for  liable,  or  breaches  o'  promise,  an'  his  pri 
vate  letters  to  the  bosom  of  his  fam'ly  (which 
nowadays  they're  mostly  ruffles),  his  letters  to 
the  bosom  of  his  fam'ly  is  read  out  loud  in  court, 
an'  then  printed  in  the  papers  next  mornin',  an' 
everybody's  laughin'  at'm,  because  he  called  his 
wife  '  My  darlin'  Tootsie,'  which  she  never  been 
accustomed  to  answer  to  anythin'  but  the  name  o' 
Sarah.  An'  it's  up  to  him  to  pay  the  costs,  when 
ten  to  one  it's  the  other  party's  to  blame.  I  guess 
p'raps  we  better  leave  good  enough  alone.  If 
we  begin  to  get  the  1'yers  after  us,  no  tellin'  where 
we'll  end.  Who  knows  but  they  might  find  the 
accident  injured  the  auto,  'stead  o'  Francie.  If 
we  work  hard,  an'  they  give  us  time,  me  an' 
Sammy  can,  maybe,  make  out  to  pay  the  doctors. 
But  add  to  that,  to  have  to  buy  a  brand-new  ma 
chine  for  the  fella  that  run  over  Francie — that'd 
be  sorter  discouragin'." 

She  paused,  and  Claire  began  to  pull  on  her 
gloves. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Martha,  "  how's  things 
down  to  the  Shermans'?  Seems  like  a  hunderd 
years  since  I  was  there.  The  las'  time  I  laid  eyes 
on  Eliza,  she  was  in  excellent  spirits — I  seen  the 
bottle.  I  wonder  if  she's  still — very  still,  takin' 
a  sly  nip  on  the  side,  as  she  calls  it,  which  means 
a  sly  nip  off  the  sideboard.  You  can  take  it  from 


ii2  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

me,  if  she  don't  let  up,  before  she  knows  it  she'll 
be  a  teetotal  wrack." 

"  I  haven't  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Eliza," 
observed  Claire,  smiling. 

"  Why,  of  course,  you  haven't,  which  it 
wouldn't  be  a  pleasure,  anyhow.  But  what  I  reely 
want  to  know  is,  how  you  makin'  out  with  Rad- 
cliffe?  I  been  so  took  up  with  Francie  all  this 
while,  I  clean  forgot  to  ask  before.  Is  he  be- 
havin'  all  right?  Does  he  mind  what  you  say? 
Does  he  do  his  lessons  good?  " 

Claire's  brows  drew  together  in  a  troubled  little 
frown,  as  she  labored  over  the  clasp  of  her  glove. 

"  O,  Radcliffe,"  she  let  fall  carelessly.  "  Rad- 
cliffe's  an  unruly  little  Hessian,  of  course,  but  I 
suppose  all  boys  are  mischievous  at  times." 

Martha  pondered.  "  Well,  not  all  boys  are 
mischievous  in  just  the  same  way,  thank  God! 
This  trouble  o'  Francie's  has  threw  me  all  out  in 
more  ways  than  one.  If  everything  had  'a'  went 
as  I'd  expected,  I'd  been  workin'  at  the  Shermans' 
straight  along  these  days,  an'  you  wouldn't  'a'  had 
a  mite  o'  trouble  with  the  little  fella.  Him  an'  I 
understands  each  other  perfeckly,  an'  with  me  a 
loomin'  up  on  the  landscape,  he  kinder  sees  the 
sense  o'  walkin'  a  chalk-line,  not  kickin'  up  his 
heels  too  frisky.  I'd  calculated  on  being  there,  to 
sorter  back  you  up,  till  you'd  got  uster  the  place, 
an'  made  'em  understand  you  mean  business." 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  113 

Claire  laughed,  a  quick,  sharp  little  laugh. 

"  O,  I  think  I'm  gradually  making  them  under 
stand  I  mean  business,"  she  said.  "  And  I'm  sure 
it  is  better,  since  I  have  to  be  there  at  all,  that  I 
should  be  there  without  you,  independent  of  any 
help.  I  couldn't  make  Radcliffe  respect  my  author 
ity,  if  I  depended  on  some  one  else  to  enforce  it. 
It's  just  one  of  those  cases  where  one  has  to  fight 
one's  own  battle  alone." 

"Then  it  is  a  battle?"  Martha  inquired 
quietly. 

"  O,  it's  a  battle,  '  all  right,'  "  laughed  Claire 
mirthlessly,  and  before  Mrs.  Slawson  could  probe 
her  further,  she  managed  to  make  her  escape. 

She  did  not  wish  to  burden  Martha  with  her 
vexations.  Martha  had  troubles  of  her  own. 
Moreover,  those  that  were  most  worrisome  to 
Claire,  Martha,  in  the  very  nature  of  things, 
would  not  understand. 

Claire's  first  few  weeks  at  the  Shermans'  had 
been  uneventful  enough.  Radcliffe  had  found 
amusement  in  the  novelty  of  the  situation,  had 
deigned  to  play  school  with  her,  and  permitted 
her  to  "  make  believe  "  she  was  "  the  teacher." 
He  was  willing  to  "  pretend  "  to  be  her  "  scholar," 
just  as  he  would  have  been  willing  to  pretend 
to  be  the  horse,  if  he  and  another  boy  had  been 
playing,  and  the  other  boy  had  chosen  to  be 
driver  for  a  while.  But  turn  about  is  fair  play, 


ii4  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

and  when  the  days  passed,  and  Claire  showed  no 
sign  of  relinquishing  her  claim,  he  grew  restless, 
mutinous,  and  she  had  all  she  could  do  to  keep 
him  in  order. 

Gradually  it  began  to  dawn  upon  him  that  this 
very  little  person,  kind  and  companionable  as  she 
seemed,  suffered  under  the  delusion  that  he  was 
going  to  obey  her — that,  somehow,  she  was  going 
to  constrain  him  to  obey  her.  Of  course,  this  was 
the  sheerest  nonsense.  How  could  she  make  him 
do  anything  he  didn't  want  to  do,  since  his  mother 
had  told  her,  in  his  presence,  that  he  was  to  be 
governed  by  love  alone,  and,  fortunately,  her  lack 
of  superior  size  and  strength  forbade  her  love 
from  expressing  itself  as,  he  shudderingly  remem 
bered,  Martha's  had  done  on  one  occasion.  No, 
plainly  he  had  the  advantage  of  Miss  Lang,  but 
until  she  clearly  understood  it,  there  were  apt  to 
be  annoyances.  So,  without  taking  the  trouble  to 
make  the  punishment  fit  the  crime,  he  casually 
locked  her  in  the  sitting-room  closet  one  morning. 
She  had  stepped  inside  to  hang  up  her  hat  and 
coat  as  usual,  and  it  was  quite  easy,  swiftly,  noise 
lessly,  to  close  the  door  upon  her,  and  turn  the 
key. 

He  paused  a  moment,  choking  back  his  nervous 
laughter,  waiting  to  hear  her  bang  on  the  panel, 
and  clamor  to  be  let  out.  But  when  she  made  no 
outcry,  when,  beyond  one  or  two  futile  turnings 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  115 

of  the  knob,  there  was  no  further  attempt  on  her 
part  to  free  herself,  he  stole  upstairs  to  the 
schoolroom,  and  made  merry  over  his  clever 
exploit. 

For  a  full  minute  after  she  found  herself  in 
darkness,  Claire  did  not  realize  she  was  a  pris 
oner.  The  door  had  swung  to  after  her,  she 
thought,  that  was  all.  But,  when  she  turned  the 
knob,  and  still  it  did  not  open,  she  began  to  suspect 
the  truth.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  call  out,  but 
her  better  judgment  told  her  it  would  be  better  to 
wait  with  what  dignity  she  might  until  Radcliffe 
tired  of  his  trick,  or  some  one  else  came  and  re 
leased  her.  Radcliffe  would  tire  the  more 
quickly,  she  reasoned,  if  she  did  not  raise  a  dis 
turbance.  When  he  saw  she  was  not  to  be  teased, 
he  would  come  and  let  her  out.  She  stood  with 
her  hot  cheek  pressed  against  the  cool  wood  of 
the  closet-door,  waiting  for  him  to  come.  And 
listening  for  his  steps,  she  heard  other  steps — 
other  steps  which  approached,  and  entered  the 
sitting-room.  She  heard  the  voices  of  Mrs. 
Sherman  and  Mr.  Ronald  in  earnest  conversa 
tion. 

"  If  I  thought  such  a  thing  were  possible  I'd 
send  her  away  to-morrow,"  Mrs.  Sherman  was 
saying  in  a  high-pitched,  excited  voice. 

"Why  such  delay?  Why  not  to-day?"  in 
quired  Mr.  Ronald  ironically. 


ii6  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"  But,  of  course,"  continued  his  sister,  ignoring 
his  interruption,  "  I  know  there's  nothing  to  be 
really  afraid  of." 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  know  there's  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of,  what  are  you  afraid  of?  " 

"  I'm  not  really  afraid.  I'm  just  talking 
things  over.  You  see,  she's  so  uncommonly 
pretty,  and — men  are  men,  and  you're  no  ex 
ception." 

"  I  hope  not.  I  don't  want  to  be  an  excep 
tion." 

"  Don't  you  think  she's  uncommonly  pretty?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I  should  call  her — pretty," 
said  Mr.  Ronald  with  an  emphasis  his  sister 
might  well  have  challenged,  if  she  had  not  been 
so  preoccupied  with  her  own  thoughts  that  she 
missed  its  point. 

"  Well,  /  do.  I  think  she's  quite  pretty 
enough  to  excuse,  I  mean,  explain  your  having  a 
passing  fancy  for  her." 

"  I  haven't  a  passing  fancy  for  her." 

"  Well,  I'm  much  relieved  to  hear  you  say  so, 
for  even  if  it  were  only  a  passing  fancy,  I'd  feel 
I  ought  to  send  her  away.  You  never  can  tell 
how  such  things  will  develop." 

"  You  certainly  can't." 

"  And  you  may  rest  assured  mother  and  I 
don't  want  you  to  ruin  your  life  by  throwing 
yourself  away  on  a  penniless,  unknown  little  gov- 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  117 

erness,  when  you  might  have  your  choice  from 
among  the  best-born,  wealthiest  girls  in  town." 

"  Miss  Lang  is  as  well-born  as  any  one  we 
know." 

"  We  have  only  her  word  for  it." 

"  No,  her  nurse,  an  old  family  servant,  Mar 
tha  Slawson,  corroborates  her — if  you  require  cor- 
roboration." 

"  Don't  you?  Would  you  be  satisfied  to  pick 
some  one  off  the  street,  as  it  were,  and  take  her 
into  your  house  and  give  her  your  innocent  child 
to  train?  " 

"  My  innocent  children  being  so  extremely 
vague,  I  am  not  concerning  myself  as  to  their  edu 
cation.  But  I  certainly  accept  Miss  Lang's  word, 
and  I  accept  Martha's." 

"  You're  easily  satisfied.  Positively,  Frank,  I 
believe  you  have  a  fancy  for  the  girl,  in  spite  of 
what  you  say.  And  for  all  our  sakes,  for 
mother's  and  mine  and  yours  and — yes — even 
hers,  it  will  be  best  for  me  to  tell  her  to 

go." 

"  I  rather  like  the  way  you  rank  us.  Mother 
and  you  first — then  I  come,  and  last — even  the 
poor  little  girl!  " 

"  Well,  you  may  laugh  if  you  want  to,  but 
when  a  child  like  Radcliffe  notices  that  you're  not 
indifferent  to  her,  there  must  be  some  truth  in  it. 
He  confided  to  me  last  night,  '  Uncle  Frank  likes 


ii8  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

Miss  Lang  a  lot.  I  guess  she's  his  best  girl! 
Isn't  she  his  best  girl?  '  I  told  him  certainly  not. 
But  I  lay  awake  most  of  the  night,  worrying 
about  it." 

Mr.  Ronald  had  evidently  had  enough  of  the 
interview.  Claire  could  hear  his  firm  steps,  as  he 
strode  across  the  floor  to  the  door. 

"  I  advise  you  to  quit  worrying,  Catherine,"  he 
said.  "  It  doesn't  pay.  Moreover,  I  assure  you 
I've  no  passing  fancy  (I  quote  your  words)  for 
Miss  Lang.  I  hope  you  \von't  be  so  foolish  as 
to  dismiss  her  on  my  account.  She's  an  excellent 
teacher,  a  good  disciplinarian.  It  would  be  dif 
ficult  to  find  another  as  capable  as  she,  one  who, 
at  the  same  time,  would  put  up  with  Radclifte's 
waywardness,  and  your — our — (I'll  put  it  pic 
turesquely,  after  the  manner  of  Martha)  our  in- 
diosincrazies.  Take  my  advice.  Don't  part 
with  Miss  Lang.  She's  the  right  person  in  the 
right  place.  Good-morning!  " 

"  Frank,  Frank!  Don't  leave  me  like  that.  I 
know  I've  terribly  annoyed  you.  I  can't  bear  to 
feel  you're  provoked  with  me,  and  yet  I'm  only 
acting  for  your  good.  Please  kiss  me  good-by. 
I'm  going  away.  I  won't  see  you  for  two  whole 
days.  I'm  going  to  Tuxedo  this  morning  to  stay 
over  night  with  Amy  Pelham.  There's  a  man 
she's  terribly  interested  in,  and  she  wants  me  to 
meet  him,  and  tell  her  what  I  think  of  him.  He's 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  119 

been  attentive  to  her  for  ever  so  long,  and  yet  he 

doesn't — his  name  is  Mr.  Robert "  Her 

words  frayed  off  in  the  distance,  as  she  hurriedly 
followed  her  brother  out  into  the  hall  and  down 
stairs. 

How  long  Claire  stood  huddled  against  the 
closet-door  she  never  knew.  The  first  thing  of 
which  she  was  clearly  conscious  was  the  feel  of  a 
key  stealthily  moved  in  the  lock  beneath  her  hand. 
Then  the  sounds  of  footsteps  lightly  tiptoeing 
away.  Mechanically  she  turned  the  knob,  the 
door  yielded,  and  she  staggered  blindly  out  from 
the  darkness  into  the  sunlit  room.  It  was  de 
serted. 

If  Mrs.  Sherman  had  been  there,  Claire  would 
have  given  way  at  once,  letting  her  sense  of  out 
raged  pride  escape  her  in  a  torrent  of  tears,  a 
storm  of  indignant  protest.  Happily,  there  be 
ing  no  one  to  cry  to,  she  had  time  to  gather  her 
self  together  before  going  up  to  face  Radcliffe. 
When  she  entered  the  schoolroom,  he  pretended 
to  be  studiously  busied  with  his  books,  and  so  did 
not  notice  that  she  was  rather  a  long  time  closing 
the  door  after  her,  and  that  she  also  had  business 
with  the  lock  of  the  door  opposite.  He  really 
only  looked  up  when  she  stationed  herself  behind 
her  desk,  and  summoned  him  to  recite. 

"  I  do'  want  to !  "  announced  Radcliffe  reso 
lutely. 


120  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"  Very  well,"  said  Claire,  "  then  we'll  sit  here 
until  you  do." 

Radcliffe  grinned.  It  seemed  to  him  things 
were  all  going  his  way,  this  clear,  sunny  morn 
ing.  He  began  to  whistle,  in  a  breathy  under 
tone. 

Claire  made  no  protest.  She  simply  sat  and 
waited. 

Radcliffe  took  up  his  pencil,  and  began  scrawl 
ing  pictures  over  both  sides  of  his  slate,  exulting 
in  the  squeaking  sounds  he  produced.  Still  the 
teacher  did  not  interfere.  But  when,  tired  of 
his  scratching,  he  concluded  the  time  had  arrived 
for  his  grand  demonstration,  his  crowning 
declaration  of  independence,  he  rose,  carelessly 
shoved  his  books  aside,  strode  to  the  door,  in 
tending  masterfully  to  leave  the  room,  and — dis 
covered  he  was  securely  locked  and  bolted  in.  In 
a  flash  he  was  across  the  room,  tearing  at  the 
lock  of  the  second  door  with  frantic  fingers. 
That,  too,  had  been  made  fast.  He  turned  upon 
Claire  like  a  little  fiend,  his  eyes  flashing,  his 
hands  clenched. 

"You  —  you  —  you  two-cent  Willie!"  he 
screamed. 

Claire  pretended  not  to  see  or  hear.  In 
reality  she  was  acutely  conscious  of  every  move 
he  made,  for,  small  as  he  was,  his  pent-in  rage 
gave  him  a  strength  she  might  well  fear  to  put  to 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  121 

the  test.  It  was  the  tug  of  war.  The  question 
was,  who  would  be  conqueror? 

Through  the  short  hours  of  the  winter  fore 
noon,  hours  that  seemed  as  interminable  to  Claire 
as  they  did  to  Radcliffe,  the  battle  raged.  There 
was  no  sign  of  capitulation  on  either  side. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning,  and  during  one  of 
Radcliffe's  fiercest  outbreaks,  Claire  took  up  the 
telephone  instrument  and  quietly  instructed  Shaw 
to  bring  no  luncheon-trays  to  the  school-room  at 
mid-day. 

"  Two  glasses  of  hot  milk  will  be  all  we  need," 
she  said,  whereupon  Radcliffe  leaped  upon  her, 
trying  to  wrest  the  transmitter  from  her  hand, 
beating  her  with  his  hard  little  fists. 

"  I  won't  drink  milk!  I  won't!  I  won't!  "  he 
shouted  madly.  "  An'  I'll  kill  you,  if  you  won't 
let  me  have  my  lunch,  you — you — you  mizzer'ble 
two-cent  Willie!  " 

As  the  day  drew  on,  his  white  face  grew 
flushed,  her  fevered  one  white,  and  both  were 
haggard  and  lined  from  the  struggle.  Then,  at 
about  three  o'clock,  Mr.  Ronald  telephoned  up 
to  say  he  wished  Radcliffe  to  go  for  a  drive  with 
him. 

Claire  replied  it  was  impossible. 

"  Why?  "  came  back  to  her  over  the  wire. 

"  Because  he  needs  punishment,  and  I  am  go 
ing  to  see  that  he  gets  it." 


122  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"And  if  I  interfere?" 

"  I  resign  at  once.     Even  as  it  is " 

"  Do  you  think  you  are  strong  enough — strong 
enough  physically,  to  fight  to  the  finish?  " 
"  I  am  strong  enough  for  anything." 
"  I  believe  you.     But  if  you  should  find  him 
one  too  many  for  you,  I  shall  be  close  at  hand, 
and   at  a   word   from  you   I   will   come   to   the 


rescue." 


"  No  fear  of  my  needing  help.     Good-by !  " 

She  hung  up  the  receiver  with  a  click  of  finality. 

Outside,  the  sky  grew  gray  and  threatening. 
Inside,  the  evening  shadows  began  to  gather. 
First  they  thickened  in  the  corners  of  the  room; 
then  spread  and  spread  until  the  whole  place 
turned  vague  and  dusky. 

The  first  violence  of  his  rage  was  spent,  but 
Radcliffe,  sullen  and  unconquered  still,  kept  up  the 
conflict  in  silent  rebellion.  He  had  not  drunk  his 
milk,  so  neither  had  Claire  hers.  The  two 
glasses  stood  untouched  upon  her  desk,  where  she 
had  placed  them  at  noon.  It  was  so  still  in  the 
room  Claire  would  have  thought  the  boy  had 
fallen  asleep,  worn  out  with  his  struggles,  but  for 
the  quick,  catching  breaths  that,  like  soundless 
sobs,  escaped  him  every  now  and  then.  It  had 
been  dark  a  long,  long  time  when,  suddenly,  a 
shaft  of  light  from  a  just  lit  window  opposite, 
struck  over  across  to  them,  reflecting  into  the 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  123 

shadow,  and  making  visible  Radcliffe's  little  fig 
ure  cowering  back  in  the  shelter  of  a  huge  leather 
armchair.  He  looked  so  pitifully  small  and  ap 
pealing,  that  Claire  longed  to  gather  him  up  in 
her  arms,  but  she  forebore  and  sat  still  and 
waited. 

Then,  at  last,  just  as  the  clock  of  a  nearby 
church  most  solemnly  boomed  forth  eight  rever 
berating  strokes,  a  chastened  little  figure  slid  out 
of  the  great  chair,  and  groped  its  way  slowly, 
painfully  along  until  it  reached  Claire's  side. 

"  I  will — be — good !  "  Radcliffe  whispered 
chokingly,  so  low  she  had  to  bend  her  head  to 
hear. 

Claire  laid  her  arms  about  him  and  he  clung 
to  her  neck,  trembling. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IT  was  almost  ten  o'clock  when  Claire  left  the 
house.  She  waited  to  see  Radcliffe  properly 
fed,  and  put  to  bed,  before  she  went.  She  cov 
ered  him  up,  and  tucked  him  in  as,  in  all  his  life, 
he  had  never  been  covered  up,  and  tucked  in,  be 
fore.  Then,  dinnerless  and  faint,  she  slipped  out 
into  the  bleak  night. 

She  was  too  exhausted  to  feel  triumphant  over 
her  conquest.  The  only  sensations  she  realized 
were  a  dead  weariness  that  hung  on  her  spirit 
and  body  like  a  palpable  weight,  and,  far  down 
in  her  heart,  something  that  smouldered  and 
burned  like  a  live  ember,  ready  to  burst  forth  and 
blaze  at  a  touch. 

She  had  walked  but  a  block  or  two  when, 
through  her  numbness,  crept  a  dim  little  shadow 
of  dread.  At  first  it  was  nothing  more  than  an 
inner  suggestion  to  hasten  her  steps,  but  gradu 
ally  it  became  a  conscious  impulse  to  outstrip 
something  or  some  one  behind  her — some  one  or 
something  whose  footfalls,  resounding  faintly 
through  the  deserted  street,  kept  such  accurate 
pace  with  her  own,  that  they  sounded  like  their 
echo. 

124 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  125 

It  was  not  until  she  had  quickened  her  steps, 
and  found  that  the  other's  steps  had  quickened, 
too,  not  until  she  had  slowed  down  to  almost  a 
saunter,  only  to  discover  that  the  one  behind  was 
lagging  also,  that  she  acknowledged  to  herself  she 
was  being  followed. 

Then,  from  out  the  far  reaches  of  her  memory, 
came  the  words  of  Aunt  Amelia's  formula :  "  Sir, 
you  are  no  gentleman.  If  you  were  a  gentle 
man "  But  straightway  followed  Martha's 

trenchant  criticism. 

"  Believe  me,  that's  rot!  It  might  go  all  right 
on  the  stage,  for  a  girl  to  stop,  an'  let  off  some 
elercution  while  the  villain  still  pursued  her,  but 
here  in  New  York  City  it  wouldn't  work.  Not 
on  your  life  it  wouldn't.  Villains  ain't  pausin' 
these  busy  days,  in  their  mad  careers,  for  no  reci 
tation-stunts,  I  don't  care  how  genteel  you  get  'em 
off.  If  they're  on  the  job,  you  got  to  step  lively, 
an'  not  linger  'round  for  no  sweet  farewells. 
Now,  you  got  your  little  temper  with  you,  all 
right,  all  right !  If  you  also  got  a  umbrella,  why, 
just  you  make  a  combine  o'  the  two  an' — aim  for 
the  bull's  eye,  though  his  nose  will  do  just  as 
good,  specially  if  it's  the  bleedin'  v'riety.  No ! 
P'licemen  ain't  what  I'd  reckmend,  for  bein'  called 
to  the  resquer.  In  the  first  place,  they  ain't  ap'  to 
be  there.  An',  besides,  they  wouldn't  know  what 
to  do  if  they  was.  P'licemen  is  funny  that  way. 


126  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

They  mean  well,  but  they  get  upset  if  anythin'  's 
doin'  on  their  beat.  They  like  things  quiet.  An' 
they  don't  like  to  run  in  their  friends,  an'  so,  by 
the  time  you  think  you  made  'em  understand  what 
you're  drivin'  at,  the  villain  has  got  away,  an' 
you're  like  to  be  hauled  up  before  the  magistrate 
for  disturbin'  the  peace,  which,  bein'  so  shy  an' 
bashful  before  high  officials,  p'licemen  don't  like 
to  blow  in  at  court  without  somethin'  to  show  for 
the  way  they  been  workin'." 

It  all  flashed  across  Claire's  mind  in  an  in 
stant,  like  a  picture  thrown  across  a  screen. 
Then,  without  pausing  to  consider  what  she  meant 
to  do,  she  halted,  turned,  and — was  face  to  face 
with  Francis  Ronald. 

Before  he  could  speak,  she  flashed  upon  him 
two  angry  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  following  me?  " 

"  It  is  late — too  late  for  you  to  be  out  in  the 
streets  alone,"  he  answered  quietly. 

Claire  laughed.  "  You  forget  I'm  not  a  soci 
ety  girl.  I'm  a  girl  who  works  for  her  living.  I 
can't  carry  a  chaperon  about  with  me  wherever  I 
go.  I  must  take  care  of  myself,  and — I  know 
how  to  do  it.  I'm  not  afraid." 

"  I  believe  you." 

"Then— good-night!" 

"  I  intend  to  see  you  home." 

"  I  don't  need  you." 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  127 

"  Nevertheless,  I  intend  to  see  you  home." 

"  I  don't — want  you." 

"  Notwithstanding  which " 

He  hailed  a  passing  motor-taxi,  gave  the  chauf 
feur  Martha's  street  and  number,  after  he  had 
succeeded  in  extracting  them  from  Claire,  and 
then,  in  spite  of  protests,  helped  her  in. 

For  a  long  time  she  sat  beside  him  in  silence, 
trying  to  quell  in  herself  a  weak  inclination  to 
shed  tears,  because — because  he  had  compelled 
her  to  do  something  against  her  will. 

He  did  not  attempt  any  conversation,  and 
when,  at  last,  she  spoke,  it  was  of  her  own  ac 
cord. 

"  I've  decided  to  resign  my  position." 

"  Is  it  permitted  me  to  know  why?  " 

"  I  can't  stay." 
'  That  is  no  explanation." 

"  I  don't  feel  I  can  manage  Radcliffe." 

"  Pardon  me,  you  know  you  can.  You  have 
proved  it.  He  is  your  bond-slave,  from  this  day 
forward,  for  better  for  worse,  for  richer  for 
poorer." 

Claire  laughed,  a  sharp,  cutting  little  laugh 
that  was  like  a  keen  knife  turned  on  herself. 

"  O,  it  would  have  to  be  for  poorer — '  all 
right,  all  right,'  as  Martha  says,"  she  cried  scorn 
fully.  "  But  it  has  been  too  hard — to-day.  I 
can't  endure  any  more." 

"  You  won't  have  to.     Radcliffe  is  conquered, 


128  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

so  far  as  you  are  concerned.  'Twill  be  plain  sail 
ing,  after  this." 

"  I'd  rather  do  something  else.  I'd  like  some 
thing  different." 

"  I  did  not  think  you  were  a  quitter." 

"  I'm  not." 

"  O,  yes,  you  are,  if  you  give  up  before  the 
game  is  done.  No  good  sport  does  that." 

"  I've  no  ambition  to  be  a  good  sport." 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  you  are  a  good  sport.  A 
thorough  good  sport.  And  you  won't  give  up  till 
you've  seen  this  thing  through." 

"  Is  that  a  prediction,  or  a — command?  It 
sounds  like  a  command." 

"  It  is  whatever  will  hold  you  to  the  business 
you've  undertaken.  I  want  you  to  conquer  the 
rest,  as  you've  conquered  Radcliffe." 

"The  rest?" 

"Yes." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  rest?  " 

"  I  mean  circumstances.  I  mean  obstacles.  I 
mean,  my  mother — my  sister." 

"  I  don't — understand." 

"  Perhaps  not." 

"And  suppose  (forgive  me  if  I  seem  rude), 
suppose  I  don't  consider  the  rest  worth  conquer 
ing?  Why  should  I?  What  one  has  to  strive 
so  for " 

"  Is  worth  the  most.     One  has  to  strive  for 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  129 

everything  in  this  world,  everything  that  is  really 
worth  while.  One  has  to  strive  to  get  it,  one  has 
to  strive  to  keep  it." 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  I  care  very  much  to-night, 
if  I  never  get  anything  ever  again  in  all  my  life 
to  come." 

"Poor  little  tired  girl!" 

Claire's  chin  went  up  with  a  jerk.  "  I  don't 
need  your  pity,  I  won't  have  it.  I  am  a  stranger 
to  you  and  to  your  friends.  I  am "  The  de 
fiant  chin  began  to  quiver. 

"  If  you  were  not  so  tired,"  Francis  Ronald 
said  gravely,  "  I'd  have  this  thing  out  with  you, 
here  and  now.  I'd  make  you  tell  me  why  you  so 
wilfully  misunderstand.  Why  you  seem  to  take 
pleasure  in  saying  things  that  are  meant  to  hurt 
me,  and  must  hurt  you.  As  it  is " 

Claire  turned  on  him  impetuously.  "  I  don't 
ask  you  to  make  allowances  for  me.  If  I  do 
what  displeases  you,  I  give  you  perfect  liberty  to 
find  fault.  I'm  not  too  tired  to  listen.  But  as  to 
your  making  me  do  or  say  anything  I  don't  choose, 
why " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I'm  afraid  you  are  a 
hopeless  proposition,  at  least  for  the  present. 
Perhaps,  some  time  I  may  be  able  to  make  you 

understand Forgive  me!  I  should  say, 

perhaps,  some  time  you  may  be  willing  to  under 
stand." 


130  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

Their  chauffeur  drew  up  beside  the  curbstone 
in  front  of  Martha's  door,  then  sprang  down 
from  his  seat  to  prove  to  his  lordly-looking 
"  fare  "  that  he  knew  his  business,  and  was  de 
serving  of  as  large  a  tip  as  a  correct  estimate  of 
his  merit  might  suggest. 

Francis  Ronald  took  Claire's  key  from  her,  fit 
ted  it  into  the  lock  of  the  outer  door,  and  opened 
it  for  her. 

"  And  you  will  stand  by  Radcliffe?  You  won't 
desert  him?  "  he  asked,  as  she  was  about  to  pass 
into  the  house. 

"  I'll  show  you  that,  at  least,  I'm  not  a  quitter, 
even  if  I  am  a  hopeless  proposition,  as  you  say." 

A  faint  shadow  of  a  smile  flitted  across  his 
face  as,  with  head  held  proudly  erect,  she  turned 
and  left  him. 

"  No,  you're  not  a  quitter,"  he  muttered  to  him 
self,  "  but — neither  am  I !  " 

The  determined  set  of  his  jaw  would  have  re 
kindled  that  inner  rebellious  fire  in  Claire,  if  she 
had  seen  it.  But  she  was  seeing  nothing  just  at 
that  moment,  save  Martha,  who,  to  her  amaze 
ment,  stood  ready  to  receive  her  in  the  inner  hall. 

"  Ain't  it  just  grand?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Slawson. 
"  They  told  me  yesterday,  '  all  things  bein'  equal,' 
they'd  maybe  leave  us  back  soon,  but  I  didn't  put 
no  stock  in  it,  knowin'  they  never  is  equal.  So  I 
just  held  me  tongue  an'  waited,  an'  this  mornin', 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  131 

like  a  bolster  outer  a  blue  sky,  come  the  word  that 
at  noon  we  could  go.  Believe  me,  I  didn't  wait 
for  no  old  shoes  or  rice  to  be  threw  after  me.  I 
got  into  their  old  amberlance-carriage,  as  happy 
as  a  blushin'  bride  bein'  led  to  the  halter,  an' 
Francie  an'  me  come  away  reji'cin'.  Say,  but 
what  ails  you?  You  look  sorter — sorter  like  a — 
strained  relation  or  somethin'.  What  you  been 
doin'  to  yourself  to  get  so  white  an'  holler-eyed? 
What  kep'  you  so  late?  " 

"  I  had  a  tussle  with  Radcliffe." 

"Who  won  out?" 

"  I  did,  but  it  took  me  all  day." 

"  Never  mind.  It'd  been  cheap  at  the  price,  if 
it  had  'a'  took  you  all  week.  How  come  the 
madam  to  give  you  a  free  hand?  " 

"  She  was  away." 

"  Anybody  else  know  what  was  goin'  on?  Any 
of  the  fam'ly?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Ronald.  He  brought  me  home.  I 
didn't  want  him  to,  but  he  did.  He  just  made  me 
let  him,  and — O,  Martha — I  can't  bear — I  can't 
bear " 

'  You  mean  you  can't  bear  him?  " 

Claire  nodded,  choking  back  her  tears. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  think  o'  that!  "  ejaculated 
Mrs.  Slawson  pensively.  "  An'  he  so  pop'lar 
with  the  ladies!  Why,  you'd  oughter  hear  them 
stylish  lady-friends  o'  Mrs.  Sherman  praisin'  'm 


132  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

to  her  face.  It'd  make  you  blush  for  their  mod 
esty,  which  they  don't  seem  to  have  none,  an' 
that's  a  fac'.  You  can  take  it  from  me,  you're  the 
only  one  he  ever  come  in  contract  with,  has 
such  a  hate  on'm.  I  wouldn't  'a'  believed  it, 
unless  I'd  'a'  had  it  from  off  of  your  own 
lips.  But  there's  no  use  tryin'  to  argue  such 
things.  Taste  is  different.  What  pleases  one, 
pizens  another.  In  the  mean  time — an'  it 
is  a  mean  time  for  you,  you  poor,  wore- 
out  child — I've  some  things  here,  hot  an'  tasty, 
that'll  encourage  your  stummick,  no  matter  how 
it's  turned  on  some  other  things.  As  I  says  to 
Sammy,  it's  a  poor  stummick  won't  warm  its  own 
bit,  but  all  the  same,  there's  times  when  some- 
thin'  steamin'  does  your  heart  as  much  good  as  it 
does  your  stummick,  which,  the  two  o'  them  bein' 
such  near  neighbors,  no  wonder  we  get  'em  mixed 
up  sometimes,  an'  think  the  one  is  starved  when 
it's  only  the  other." 


CHAPTER  XII 

IT  proved  altogether  easier  for  Martha,  now 
Francie  was  at  home  again. 

"  You  see,  I  can  tend  her  an'  sandwich  in  some 
work  besides,"  Mrs.  Slawson  explained  cheer 
fully.  "  An'  Ma's  a  whizz  at  settin'  by  bedsides 
helpin'  patients  get  up  their  appetites.  Says  she, 
*  Now  drink  this  nice  glass  o'  egg-nog,  Francie, 
me  child,'  she  says.  '  An'  if  you'll  drink  it,  I'll 
take  one  just  like  it  meself.'  An'  true  for  you, 
she  does.  The  goodness  o'  Ma  is  astonishin'." 

Then  one  day  Sam  Slawson  came  home  with  a 
tragic  face. 

"  I've  lost  my  job,  Martha !  "  he  stated  baldly. 

For  a  moment  his  wife  stood  silent  under  the 
blow,  and  all  it  entailed.  Then,  with  an  almost 
imperceptible  squaring  of  her  broad  shoulders, 
she  braced  herself  to  meet  it,  as  she  herself  would 
say,  like  a  soldier.  "  Well,  it's  kinder  hard  on 
you,  lad,"  she  answered.  "  But  there's  no  use 
grievin'.  If  it  had  to  happen,  it  couldn't  'a'  hap 
pened  at  a  better  time,  for  you  bein'  home,  an' 
able  to  look  after  Francie,  will  give  me  a  chance 
to  go  out  reg'lar  to  my  work  again.  An'  before 

133 


134  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

you  know  it,  Francie,  she'll  be  running  about  as 
good  as  new,  an'  you'll  have  another  job,  an'  we'll 
be  on  the  top  o'  the  wave.  Here's  Miss  Claire, 
bless  her,  payin'  me  seven  dollars  a  week  board, 
which  she  doesn't  eat  no  more  than  a  bird,  an' 
Sammy  singin'  in  the  surplus  choir,  an'  gettin' 
fifty  cents  a  week  for  it,  an'  extra  for  funer'ls  (it'd 
take  your  time  to  hear'm  lamentin'  because  busi 
ness  ain't  brisker  in  the  funer'l  line!).  Why,  we 
ain't  no  call  to  be  discouraged.  You  can  take 
it  from  me,  Sammy  Slawson,  when  things  seem 
to  be  kinder  shuttin'  down  on  ye,  an'  gettin'  black- 
like,  same's  they  lately  been  doin'  on  us,  that  ain't 
no  time  to  be  chicken-hearted.  Anybody  could 
fall  down  when  they're  knocked.  That's  too 
dead-easy!  No,  what  we  want,  is  buck  up  an' 
have  some  style  about  us.  When  things  shuts 
down  an'  gets  dark  at  the  movin'-picture  show, 
then  it's  time  to  sit  up  an'  take  notice.  That 
means  somethin's  doin' — you're  goin'  to  be 
showed  somethin'  interestin'.  Well,  it's  the  same 
with  us.  But  if  you  lose  your  sand  at  the  first  go 
off,  an'  sag  down  an'  hide  your  face  in  your  hands, 
well,  you'll  miss  the  show.  You  won't  see  a 
bloomin'  thing." 

And  Martha,  sleeves  rolled  up,  enveloped  in 
an  enormous  blue-checked  apron,  returned  to 
her  assault  on  the  dough  she  was  kneading,  with 
redoubled  zeal. 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  135 

"Bread,  mother?"  asked  Sam  dully,  letting 
himself  down  wearily  into  a  chair  by  the  drop- 
table,  staring  indifferently  before  him  out  of 
blank  eyes. 

"  Shoor!  An'  I  put  some  currants  in,  to  please 
the  little  fella.  I  give  in,  my  bread  is  what  you 
might  call  a  holy  terror.  Ain't  it  the  caution  how 
I  can't  ever  make  bread  fit  to  be  eat,  the  best  I 
can  do?  An'  yet,  I  can't  quit  tryin'.  You  see, 
home-made  bread,  if  it's  good,  is  cheaper  than 
store.  Perhaps  some  day  I'll  be  hittin'  it  right, 
so's  when  you  ask  me  for  bread  I  won't  be  givin' 
you  a  stone." 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  gazed  a  moment  at  her 
husband,  then  stepped  to  his  side,  and  put  a  floury 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  Say,  Sam,  what  you 
lookin'  so  for?  You  ain't  lost  your  sand  just  be 
cause  they  fired  you?  What's  come  to  you,  lad? 
Tell  Martha." 

For  a  second  there  was  no  sound  in  the  room, 
then  the  man  looked  up,  gulped,  choked  down  a 
mighty  sob,  and  laid  his  head  against  her  breast. 

"  Martha — there's  somethin'  wrong  with  my 
lung.  That's  why  they  thrown  me  down.  They 
had  their  doctor  from  the  main  office  examine  me 
— they'd  noticed  me  coughin' — and  he  said  I'd  a 
spot  on  my  lung  or — something.  I  shouldn't  stay 
here  in  the  city,  he  said.  I  must  go  up  in  the 
mountains,  away  from  this,  where  there's  the 


136  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

good  air  and  a  chance  for  my  lung  to  heal,  other 
wise " 

Martha  stroked  the  damp  hair  away  from  his 
temples  with  her  powdery  hand. 

"Well,  well!"  she  said  reflectively.  "Now, 
what  do  you  think  o'  that!  " 

"  O,  Martha — I  can't  stand  it !  You  an'  the 
children!  It's  more  than  I  can  bear!  " 

Mrs.  Slawson  gave  the  head  against  her  breast 
a  final  pat  that,  to  another  than  her  husband, 
might  have  felt  like  a  blow. 

"  More'n  you  can  bear?  Don't  flatter  your 
self,  Sammy  my  lad!  Not  by  no  means  it  ain't. 
I  wouldn't  like  to  have  to  stand  up  to  all  I  could 
ackchelly  bear.  It's  God,  not  us,  knows  how 
much  we  can  stand,  an'  when  He  gets  in  the  good 
licks  on  us,  He  always  leaves  us  with  a  little 
stren'th  to  spare — to  last  over  for  the  next  time. 
Now,  I'm  not  a  bit  broke  down  by  what  you've 
told  me.  I  s'pose  you  thought  you'd  have  me 
sobbin'  on  your  shoulder — to  give  you  a  chanct 
to  play  up,  an'  do  the  strong-husband  act,  com- 
fortin'  his  little  tremblin'  wife.  Well,  my  lad,  if 
you  ain't  got  on  to  it  by  now,  that  I'm  no  little, 
tremblin'  wife,  you  never  will.  Those  kind 
has  nerves.  I  only  got  nerve.  That's  where  I'm 
singular,  see?  A  joke,  Sammy!  I  made  it  up 
myself.  Out  of  my  own  head,  just  now.  But  to 
go  back  to  what  I  was  sayin' — why  should  I  sob 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  137 

on  your  shoulder?  There  ain't  no  reason  for't. 
In  the  first  place,  even  if  you  have  got  a  spot  on 
your  lung,  what's  a  spot!  It  ain't  the  whole 
lung!  An'  one  lung  ain't  both  lungs,  an'  there 
you  are!  As  I  make  it  out,  even  grantin'  the 
worst,  you're  a  lung-an'-then-some  to  the  good,  so 
where's  the  use  gettin'  blue?  There's  always  a 
way  out,  somehow.  If  we  can't  do  one  way,  we'll 
do  another.  Now  you  just  cheer  up,  an'  don't  let 
Ma  an'  the  childern  see  you  kinder  got  a  knock- 
outer  in  the  solar  plexus,  like  Jeffries,  an'  before 
you  know  it,  there'll  be  a  suddent  turn,  an'  we'll 
be  atop  o'  our  worries,  'stead  o'  their  bein'  atop 
o'  us.  See !  Say,  just  you  cast  your  eye  on  them 
loaves!  Ain't  they  grand?  Appearances  may 
be  deceitful,  but  if  I  do  say  it  as  shouldn't,  my 
bread  certainly  looks  elegant  this  time.  Now, 
Sammy,  get  busy  like  a  good  fella !  Go  in  an' 
amuse  Francie.  The  poor  child  is  perishin'  for 
somethin'  to  distrack  her.  What  with  Cora  an' 
Sammy  at  school,  an'  Miss  Claire  havin'  the  Sher 
mans  so  bewitched,  they  keep  her  there  all  day, 
an'  lucky  for  us  if  they  leave  her  come  home 
nights  at  all,  the  house  is  too  still  for  a  sick 
person.  Give  Francie  a  drink  o'  Hygee  water 
to  cool  her  lips,  an'  tell  her  a  yarn-like.  An', 
Sammy,  I  wisht  you'd  be  good  to  yourself,  an' 
have  a  shave.  Them  prickles  o'  beard  reminds 
me  o'  the  insides  o'  Mrs.  Sherman's  big  music- 


138  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

box.  I  wonder  what  tune  you'd  play  if  I  run  your 
chin  in.  Go  on,  now,  an'  attend  to  Francie,  like 
I  told  you  to.  She  needs  to  have  her  mind  took 
off'n  herself." 

When  he  was  gone,  Martha  set  her  loaves  aside 
under  cover  to  rise,  never  pausing  a  moment  to 
take  breath,  before  giving  the  kitchen  a  "  scrub- 
down  "  that  left  no  corner  or  cranny  harboring  a 
particle  of  dust.  It  was  twilight  when  she  fin 
ished,  and  "  time  to  turn  to  an'  get  the  dinner." 

Cora  and  Sammy  had  long  since  returned  from 
school.  Sammy  had  gone  out  again  to  play,  and 
had  just  come  back  to  find  his  mother  taking  her 
bread-pans  from  the  oven.  She  regarded  them 
with  doleful  gaze. 

"  I  fairly  broke  my  own  record  this  time  for  a 
bum  bread-maker!"  she  muttered  beneath  her 
breath.  "  This  batch  is  the  worst  yet." 

"Say — mother!"  said  Sammy. 

"Well?" 

"Say,  mother,  may  I  have  a  slice  of  bread? 
I'm  awfully  hungry." 

"  Shoor  you  may!  This  here's  just  fresh  from 
the  oven,  an'  it  has  currants  in  it." 

"  Say,  mother,  a  feller  I  play  with,  Joe  Eagan, 
his  mother's  hands  ain't  clean.  Would  you  think 
he'd  like  to  eat  the  bread  she  makes?  " 

"  Can  she  make  good  bread?  " 

"  I  dunno.     She  give  me  a  piece  oncet,  but  I 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  139 

couldn't  eat  it,  'count  o'  seein'  her  fingers.  I'm 
glad  your  hands  are  so  clean,  mother.  Say,  this 
bread  tastes  awful  good!" 

Martha  chuckled.  "  Well,  I'm  glad  you  like 
it.  It  might  be  worse,  if  I  do  say  it!  Only,"  she 
added  to  herself,  "  it'd  have  a  tough  time  man- 
agin'  it." 

"  Say,  mother,  may  I  have  another  slice  with 
butter  on,  an'  sugar  sprinkled  on  top,  like  this  is, 
to  give  it  to  Joe  Eagan?  He's  downstairs.  I 
want  to  show  him  how  my  mother  can  make  the 
boss  bread!  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Martha  heartily.  "  By  all 
means,  give  Joe  Eagan  a  slice.  I  like  to  see  you 
thoughtful  an'  generous,  my  son.  Willin'  to 
share  your  good  things  with  your  friends,"  and 
as  Sammy  bounded  out,  clutching  his  treasures, 
she  winked  solemnly  across  at  her  husband,  who 
had  just  re-entered. 

"  Now  do  you  know  what'll  happen?  "  she  in 
quired.  "  Sammy'll  always  have  the  notion  I 
make  the  best  bread  ever.  An'  when  he  grows  up 
an'  marries,  if  his  wife  is  a  chef-cook  straight  out 
of  the  tonicst  kitchen  in  town,  at  fifty  dollars  a 
month,  he'll  tell  her  she  ain't  a  patch  on  me.  An' 
he'll  say  to  her:  '  Susan,  or  whatever-her-name-is, 
them  biscuits  is  all  right  in  their  way,  but  I  wisht 
I  had  a  mouthful  o'  bread  like  mother  used  to 
make.'  An'  the  poor  creature'll  wear  the  life  out 


I4o  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

o'  her,  tryin'  to  please'm,  an'  reach  my  top-notch, 

an'   never   succeed,    an'    all   the   time Say, 

Sammy,  gather  up  the  rest  o'  the  stuff,  like  a  good 
fella,  an'  shove  it  onto  the  dumb-waiter,  so's  it 

can    go    down    with    the    sw There's    the 

whistle     now!     That's     him     callin'     for     the 
garbage." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"TTULLO,  Martha!"  said  Radcliffe. 

XTl  Mrs.  Slawson  bowed  profoundly. 
"Hullo  yourself!  I  ain't  had  the  pleasure  of 
meetin'  you  for  quite  some  time  past,  an'  yet  I 
notice  my  absents  ain't  made  no  serious  altera 
tion  for  the  worst  in  your  appearance.  You 
ain't  fell  away  none,  on  account  of  my  not  bein' 
here." 

"  Fell  away  from  what?  "  asked  Radcliffe. 

"  Fell  away  from  nothin'.  That's  what  they 
call  a  figger  o'  speech.  Means  you  ain't  got 
thin." 

"  Well,  you've  got  thin,  haven't  you,  Martha? 
I  don't  'member  your  cheeks  had  those  two  long 
lines  in  'em  before." 

"  Lines?  "  repeated  Martha,  regarding  herself 
in  the  mirror  of  an  etagere  she  was  polishing. 
"  Them  ain't  lines.  Them's  dimples." 

Radcliffe  scrutinized  her  critically  for  a  mo 
ment.  "  They're  not  like  Miss  Lang's  dimples," 
he  observed  at  last.  "  Miss  Lang's  dimples  look 
like  when  you  blow  in  your  milk  to  cool  it — they're 
there,  an'  then  they  ain't  there.  She  vanishes 

141 


142  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

'em  in,  an'  she  vanishes  'em  out,  but  those  lines 
in  your  face,  they  just  stay.  Only  they  weren't 
there  before,  when  you  were  here." 

"  The  secret  is,  my  dimples  is  the  kind  that 
takes  longer  to  vanish  'em  out  when  you  once 
vanished  'em  in.  Mine's  way-train  dimples. 
Miss  Lang's  is  express.  But  you  can  take  it  from 
me,  dimples  is  faskinatin',  whatever  specie  they 
are." 

"  What's  faskinatin'?" 

"  It's  the  thing  in  some  things  that,  when  it 
ain't  in  other  things,  you  don't  care  a  thing  about 
'em." 

"  Are  you  faskinatin'?  " 

"  That's  not  for  me  to  say,"  said  Martha, 
feigning  coyness.  "  But  this  much  I  will  confess, 
that  some  folks  which  shall  be  nameless,  considers 
me  so.  An'  they'd  oughter  know." 

"  Is  Miss  Lang  faskinatin'?  " 

"  Ask  your  Uncle  Frank." 

"Why  must  I  ask  him?" 

"  If  you  wanter  know." 

"Does  he  know?" 

"  Prob'ly.  He's  a  very  well-informed  gen'l'- 
man  on  most  subjecks." 

"  I  do'  want  to  ask  my  Uncle  Frank  anything 
about  Miss  Lang.  Once  I  asked  him  somethin' 
about  her,  an'  he  didn't  like  it." 

"What'dyouaskhim?" 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  143 

"  I  asked  him  if  she  wasn't  his  best  girl." 

"What'd  he  say?" 

"  He  said  '  No !  '  quick,  just  like  that — '  No!  ' 
I  guess  he  was  cross  with  me,  an'  I  know  he  didn't 
like  it.  When  I  asked  my  mother  why  he  didn't 
like  it,  she  said  because  Miss  Lang's  only  my  gov 
erness.  An'  when  I  told  Miss  Lang  what  my 
mother,  she  told  me,  Miss  Lang,  she  didn't  like  it 
either." 

"  Now,  what  do  you  think  o'  that?  "  ejaculated 
Martha.  "  Nobody  didn't  seem  to  like  nothin' 
in  that  combination,  did  they?  You  was  the 
only  one  in  the  whole  outfit  that  showed  any 
tack." 

"  What  means  that— tack?  " 

"  It's  a  little  thing  that  you  use  when  you  want 
to  keep  things  in  place — keep  'em  from  fallin' 
down.  There's  two  kinds.  One  you  must  ham 
mer  in,  an'  the  other  you  mustn't." 

"  I  wisht  Miss  Lang  was  my  Uncle  Frank's 
best  girl.  But  I  guess  she's  somebody  else's." 

"Eh?"  said  Martha  sharply,  sitting  back  on 
her  heels  and  twisting  her  polishing-cloth  into  a 
rope,  as  if  she  were  wringing  it  out.  "  Now, 
whose  best  girl  do  you  think  she  is,  if  I  may  make 
so  bold?" 

Radcliffe  settled  down  to  business. 

'  Yesterday  Miss  Lang  an'  me  was  comin' 
home  from  the  Tippydrome,  an'  my  mother  she 


144  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

had  comp'ny  in  the  drawin'-room.  An'  I  didn't 
know  there  was  comp'ny  first-off,  coz  Shaw  he 
didn't  tell  us,  an'  I  guess  I  talked  kinder  loud 
in  the  hall,  an'  my  mother  she  heard  me,  an'  she 
wasn't  cross  or  anythin',  she  just  called  to  me  to 
come  along  in,  an'  see  the  comp'ny.  An'  I  said, 
'  No,  I  won't!  Not  less  Miss  Lang  comes  too.' 
An'  my  mother,  she  said,  '  Miss  Lang,  come  too.' 
An'  Miss  Lang,  she  didn't  wanter,  but  she  hadter. 
An'  the  comp'ny  was  a  gen'l'man  an'  a  lady,  an' 
the  minit  the  gen'l'man,  he  saw  Miss  Lang,  he 
jumped  up  outer  his  chair  like  a  jumpin'-jack,  an' 
his  eyes  got  all  kinder  sparkly,  an'  he  held  out 
both  of  his  hands  to  her,  an'  sorter  shook  her 
hands,  till  you'd  think  he'd  shake  'em  off.  An' 
my  mother,  she  said,  '  I  see  you  an'  Miss  Lang 
are  already  'quainted,  Mr.  Van  Brandt.'  An'  he 
laughed  a  lot,  the  way  you  do  when  you're  just 
tickled  to  death,  an'  he  said,  '  'Quainted?  Well, 
I  should  say  so !  Miss  Lang  an'  I  are  old,  old 
friends ! '  An'  he  kep'  lookin'  at  her,  an'  lookin' 
at  her,  the  way  you  feel  when  there's  somethin' 
on  the  table  you  like,  an'  you're  fearful  'fraid  it 
will  be  gone  before  it's  passed  to  you.  An'  my 
mother  she  said  to  the  other  comp'ny,  '  Miss  Pel- 
ham,  this  is  Radcliffe.'  An'  Miss  Pelham,  she  was 
lookin'  sideways  at  Miss  Lang  an'  Mr.  What's- 
his-name,  but  she  pertended  she  was  lookin' 
at  me,  an'  she  said  (she's  a  Smarty-Smarty-gave- 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  145 

a-party,  Miss  Pelham  is),  she  said,  'Radcliffe, 
Radcliffe?  I  wonder  if  you're  any  relation  to 
Radcliffe  College?'  An'  I  said,  'No.  I  won 
der  if  you  are  any  relation  to  Pelham  Manor?' 
An'  while  they  was  laughin',  an'  my  mother  she 
was  tellin'  how  percoshus  I  am,  my  Uncle  Frank 
he  came  in.  He  came  in  kinder  quiet,  like  he  al 
ways  does,  an'  he  stood  in  the  door,  an'  Mr. 
What's-his-name  was  talkin'  to  Miss  Lang  so  fast, 
an'  lookin'  at  her  so  hard,  they  didn't  neither  of 
'em  notice.  An'  when  my  Uncle  Frank,  he  no 
ticed  they  didn't  notice,  coz  they  was  havin'  such 
fun  by  themselves,  he  put  his  mouth  together  like 
this — like  when  your  tooth  hurts,  an'  you  bite  on 
it  to  make  it  hurt  some  more,  an'  then  he  talked 
a  lot  to  Miss  Pelham,  an'  didn't  smile  pleasant 
an'  happy  at  Mr.  What's-his-name  an'  Miss  Lang, 
when  my  mother,  she  interdooced  'em.  An'  soon 
Miss  Lang,  she  took  me  upstairs  an'  she  didn't 
look  near  so  tickled  to  death  as  Mr.  Van  Brandt, 
he  looked.  An'  when  I  asked  her  if  she  wasn't, 
she  said:  '  O'  course  I  am.  Mr.  Van  Brandt 
was  a  friend  o'  mine  when  I  was  a  little  girl.  An' 
when  you're  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land,  any 
body  you  knew  when  you  was  at  home  seems  dear 
to  you.'  But  she  didn't  look  near  so  pleased 
as  he  did.  She  looked  more  like  my  Uncle  Frank, 
he  did  before  he  got  talkin'  so  much  to  Miss  Pel- 
ham.  An'  now  I  guess  the  way  of  it  is,  Miss 


146  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

Pelham's  my  Uncle  Frank's  best  girl  an'  Miss 
Lang's  Mr.  What's-his-name's." 

"Well,  now!  Who'd  believed  you  could  'a' 
seen  so  much?  Why,  you're  a  reg'ler  Old  Sleuth 
the  Detective,  or  Sherlock  Holmes,  or  somebody 
like  that,  for  discoverin'  things,  ain't  you?  " 

"  I  don't  want  Miss  Pelham  to  be  my  Uncle 
Frank's  best  girl,  an'  I  don't  see  why  that  other 
man  he  don't  have  her  for  his,  like  she  was  first-off, 
an'  leave  my  Miss  Lang  alone." 

"  It  all  is  certainly  very  dark  an'  mysterious," 
said  Mrs.  Slawson,  shaking  her  head.  "  You 
don't  know  where  you're  at,  at  all.  Like  when 
you  wake  up  in  the  black  night,  an'  hear  the  clock 
give  one  strike.  You  couldn't  tell,  if  your  life 
hung  in  the  ballast,  if  it's  half-past  twelve,  or  one, 
or  half-past." 

Radcliffe  pondered  this  for  a  space,  but  was 
evidently  unable  to  fathom  its  depth,  for  presently 
he  let  it  go  with  a  sigh,  and  swung  off  to  another 
topic. 

"  Say,  do  you  know  our  cook,  'Liza — the  one 
we  uster  have — has  gone  away?  " 

"  So  I  gathered  from  not  havin'  saw  her  fairy- 
figger  hoverin'  round  the  kitchen  as  I  come  in, 
an'  meetin'  another  lady  in  her  place — name  of 
Augusta,  Beetrice  said." 

"Yes,  sir!  Augusta's  the  new  one.  I  guess 
Augusta  don't  drink." 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  147 

"Which,  you  are  suggesting  'Liza  does?" 

"  Well,  my  mother,  she  don't  know  I  know,  but 
I  do.  I  heard  Shaw  tellin'  'bout  it.  It  was 
'Liza's  day  out,  an'  she  went  an'  got  'toxicated, 
an'  a  p'liceman  he  took  her  up,  an'  nex'  mornin' 
my  Uncle  Frank,  they  sent  to  him  out  of  the  sta 
tion-house  to  have  him  bail  her  out." 

"  My,  my !     She  was  as  full  as  that?  " 

"  What's  bail  her  out?  "  inquired  Radcliffe. 

Mrs.  Slawson  considered.  "  When  a  boat  gets 
full  of  water,  because  o'  leakin'  sides  or  heavy 
rains  or  shippin'  seas,  or  whatever  they  calls  it, 
you  bail  her  out  with  a  tin  can  or  a  sponge  or 
anythin'  you  have  by  you." 

"Was  'Liza  full  of  water?  " 

"  I  was  describin'  boats,"  said  Martha.  "  An' 
talkin'  o'  boats,  did  I  tell  you  we  got  a  new  kitten 
to  our  house?  He's  a  gray  Maltee.  His  name 
is  Nixcomeraus." 

"  Why  is  his  name  Nix — why  is  his  name 
that?  " 

"  Nixcomeraus?  His  name's  Nixcomeraus  be 
cause  he's  from  the  Dutchman's  house.  If  you 
listen  good,  you'll  see  that's  poetry — 

"  '  Nixcomeraus  from  the  Dutchman's  house  ! ' 

"  I  didn't  make  it  up,  but  it's  poetry  all  the 
same.  A  Dutchman  gen'l'man  who  lives  nex' 
door  to  me,  made  him  a  present  to  our  fam'ly." 


148  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"Do  you  like  him?" 

"  The  Dutchman  genTman?  " 

"  No,  the— the  Nix— the  cat?" 

"  Certaintly  we  like  him.  He's  a  decent,  self- 
respectin'  little  fella  that  'tends  to  his  own  busi 
ness,  an'  keeps  good  hours.  An'  you'd  oughter 
see  how  grand  him  an'  Flicker  gets  along!  Talk 
o'  a  cat-and-dog  existence !  Why,  if  all  the  mar 
ried  parties  I  know,  not  to  speak  o'  some  others 
that  ain't,  hit  it  off  as  good  as  Flicker  an'  Nix- 
comeraus,  there  wouldn't  be  no  occasion  for  so 
many  ladies  takin'  the  rest-cure  at  Reno." 

"What's  Reno?" 

"Reno?  Why,  Reno's  short  for  merino. 
Like  I'd  say,  Nix  for  Nixcomeraus,  which  is  a 
kinder  woolen  goods  you  make  dresses  out  of. 
There!  Did  you  hear  the  schoolroom  bell?  I 
thought  I  heard  it  ringin'  a  while  ago,  but  I  wasn't 
sure.  Hurry  now,  an'  don't  keep  Miss  Lang 
waitin'.  She  wants  you  to  come  straight  along 
up,  so's  she  can  learn  you  to  be  a  big  an'  hand 
some  gen'l'man  like  your  Uncle  Frank." 

When  Radcliffe  had  left  her,  Martha  went  over 
in  her  mind  the  items  he  had  guilelessly  con 
tributed  to  her  general  fund  of  information.  Take 
it  all  in  all,  she  was  not  displeased  with  what 
they  seemed  to  indicate. 

"  Confidence  is  a  good  thing  to  have,  but  a  little 
wholesome  doubt  don't  hurt  the  masculine  gender 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  149 

none.  I  guess,  if  I  was  put  to  it,  I  could  count 
on  one  hand  with  no  fingers,  the  number  o'  gen'l'- 
men,  no  matter  how  plain,  have  died  because  'way 
down  in  their  hearts  they  believed  they  wasn't  reel 
A-i  Winners.  That's  one  thing  it  takes  a  lot  o' 
hard  usage  to  convince  the  sect  of.  They  may 
feel  they  ain't  gettin'  their  doos,  that  they're  mis 
understood,  an'  bein'  sold  below  cost.  But  that 
they're  ackchelly  shopworn,  or  what's  called 
'  seconds,'  or  put  on  the  As  Is  counter  because 
they're  cracked,  or  broke,  or  otherwise  slightly 
disfigured,  but  still  in  the  ring — why,  that  never 
seems  to  percolate  through  their  brains,  like  those 
coffee-pots  they  use  nowadays,  that  don't  make 
no  better  coffee  than  the  old  kind,  if  you  know 
how  to  do  it  good,  in  the  first  place. 

"On  the  other  hand,  ladies  is  dretful  tryin' ! 
They  act  like  they're  the  discoverers  of  perpetchal 
emotion,  an'  is  on  the  job  demonstratin'.  You 
can't  count  on  'em  for  one  minit  to  the  next, 
which  they  certaintly  was  never  born  to  be  aro 
matic  cash-registers.  An'  p'raps  that's  the  rea 
son,  bein'  natchelly  so  poor  at  figgers,  they  got  to 
rely  to  such  a  extent  on  corsets.  I'm  all  for 
women  myself.  I  believe  they're  the  comin'  man, 
but  I  must  confess,  if  I'm  to  speak  the  truth,  it 
ain't  for  the  simple,  uninfected,  childlike  mind  o' 
the  male  persuasion  to  foller  their  figaries,  unless 
he's  some  of  a  trained  acrobat. 


150  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"  Now,  the  harsh  way  Miss  Claire  has  toward 
Mr.  Ronald!  You'd  think  he  had  give  himself 
dead  away  to  her,  an'  was  down  on  his  knee-pans 
humble  as  a  'Piscerpalian  sayin'  the  Literny  in 
Lent,  grubbin'  about  among  the  dust  she  treads 
on,  to  touch  the  hem  o'  her  garment.  Whereas, 
in  some  way  unbeknownst  to  me,  an'  prob'ly  un 
beknownst  to  him,  he's  touched  her  pride,  which 
is  why  she's  so  up  in  arms,  not  meanin'  his — 
worse  luck!  An'  it  would  have  all  worked  out 
right  in  the  end,  an'  will  yet,  /'/  this  new  party 
that  Radcliffe  mentioned  ain't  Mr.  Buttinsky,  an' 
she  don't  foller  the  dictates  of  her  art  an'  flirt 
with  him  too  outrageous,  or  else  marry  him  to 
spite  herself,  which  is  what  I  mean  to  pervent  if 
I  can,  but  which,  of  course,  it  may  be  I  can't." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

«1T>RANK,"  said  Mrs.  Sherman  one  Sunday 

J7  morning,  some  weeks  later,  stopping  her 
brother  on  his  way  to  the  door,  "  can  you  spare 
me  a  few  moments?  I've  something  very  im 
portant  I  want  to  discuss  with  you.  I  want  you 
to  help  me  with  suggestions  and  advice  in  a  mat 
ter  that  very  closely  concerns  some  one  in  whom 
I'm  greatly  interested." 

Mr.  Ronald  paused.  "Meaning?"  he  sug 
gested. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  tell  you.  You 
see,  it's — it's  confidential." 

"  Suggestions  and  advice  are  foolish  things  to 
give,  Catherine.  They  are  seldom  taken,  never 
thanked  for." 

"  Well,  in  this  case  mine  have  been  actually 
solicited.  And  I  feel  I  ought  to  do  something, 
because,  in  a  way,  I'm  more  or  less  responsible 
for  the — the  imbroglio." 

Slipping  her  hand  through  his  arm,  she  led  him 
back  into  the  library. 

"  You  see,  it's  this  way.  Perhaps,  after  all, 
it  will  be  better,  simpler,  if  I  don't  try  to  beat 
about  the  bush.  Amy  Pelham  has  been  terribly 


152  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

devoted  to  Mr.  Van  Brandt  for  ever  so  long — oh, 
quite  six  months.  And  he  has  been  rather  at 
tentive,  though  I  can't  say  he  struck  me  as  very 
much  in  love.  You  know  she  asked  me  out  to 
Tuxedo  not  long  ago.  She  wanted  me  to  watch 
him  and  tell  her  if  I  thought  he  was  serious.  Well, 
I  watched  him,  but  I  couldn't  say  I  thought  he 
was  serious.  However,  you  never  can  tell. 
Men  are  so  extraordinary!  They  sometimes 
masquerade  so,  their  own  mothers  wouldn't  know 
them." 

"  Or  their  sisters." 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"  Nothing  worth  repeating.  Go  on  with  your 
story." 

"  Well,  then,  one  evening  she  brought  him  here, 
you  remember.  I'd  asked  him  to  come,  when  I 
was  in  Tuxedo,  and  he  evidently  wanted  to  do  so, 
for  he  proposed  to  Amy  that  she  bring  him.  Of 
course,  I'd  no  idea  he  and  Miss  Lang  had  ever 
met  before,  and  when  I  innocently  ordered  her  in, 
I  did  it  simply  because  Radcliffe  was  refractory 
and  refused  to  come  without  her,  and  I  couldn't 
have  a  scene  before  guests." 

"Well?" 

"  I  didn't  know  Mr.  Van  Brandt  came  from 
Grand  Rapids.  How  should  I?  One  never  thinks 
of  those  little,  provincial  towns  as  having  any 
society." 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  153 

"  You  dear  insular,  insolent  New  Yorker." 

"  Well,  you  may  jeer  as  much  as  you  like,  but 
that's  the  way  one  feels.  I  didn't  know  that,  as 
Martha  says,  he  was  '  formerly  born  '  in  Michi 
gan.  I  just  took  him  for  granted,  as  one  does 
people  one  meets  in  our  best  houses.  He's  evi 
dently  of  good  stock,  he  has  money  (not  a  for 
tune,  perhaps,  but  enough),  he's  handsome,  and 
he's  seen  everywhere  with  the  smartest  people  in 
town." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  naturally  Amy  doesn't  want  to  lose 
him,  especially  as  she's  really  awfully  fond  of 
him  and  he  is  uncommonly  attractive,  you  know." 

"Well?" 

"  It  looks  as  if  that  one  glimpse  of  Miss  Lang 
had  been  enough  to  upset  everything  for  Amy. 
He's  hardly  been  there  since." 

"  And  what  does  she  propose  to  do  about 
it?" 

"  She  doesn't  know  what  to  do  about  it.  That's 
where  my  suggestions  and  advice  are  to  come  in." 

"  I  see." 

"  Of  course,  we  can't  be  certain,  but  from  what 
Bob  Van  Brandt  has  dropped  and  from  what  Amy 
has  been  able  to  gather  from  other  sources,  from 
people  who  knew  Miss  Lang  and  him  in  their  na 
tive  burg,  he  was  attached  to  her  when  she  was  no 
more  than  a  kiddie.  Then,  when  they  grew  up, 


154  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

he  came  East  and  she  went  abroad,  and  they  lost 
sight  of  each  other.  But,  as  I  say,  that  one 
glimpse  of  her  was  enough  to  ignite  the  old  flame. 
You  must  have  seen  yourself  how  frankly,  openly 
he  showed  his  feeling  that  night." 

"Well?" 

"  What  is  one  to  do  about  it?  " 

uDo  about  what?" 

"Why — the  whole  thing!  Don't  you  see,  I'm 
responsible  in  a  way.  If  I  hadn't  called  Miss 
Lang  in,  Bob  Van  Brandt  wouldn't  have  known 
she  was  here,  and  then  he  would  have  kept  on 
with  Amy.  Now  he's  dropped  her  it's  up  to  me 
to  make  it  up  to  her  somehow." 

"  It's  up  to  you  to  make  what  up  to  Amy?  " 

"  How  dense  you  are!  Why,  the  loss  of  Bob 
Van  Brandt." 

"  But  if  she  didn't  have  him,  how  could  she  lose 
him?" 

"  She  didn't  exactly  have  him,  but  she  had  a 
fighting  chance." 

"  And  she  wants  to  fight?  " 

"  I  think  she'd  be  willing  to  fight,  if  she  saw 
her  way  to  winning  out." 

''Winning  out  against  Miss  Lang?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  want  to  put  it  so  brutally." 

"  I  see  you  are  assuming  that  Miss  Lang  is 
keen  about  Van  Brandt." 

"  Would  you  wonder  if  she  were  ?     It  would  be 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  155 

her  salvation.  Of  course,  I  don't  feel  about  her 
any  longer  as  I  did  once.  I  know  now  she's  a 
lady,  but  the  fact  of  her  poverty  remains.  If  she 
married  Bob  Van  Brandt,  she'd  be  comfortably 
settled.  She'd  have  ease  and  position  and, 
oh,  of  course  she'll  marry  him  if  he  asks 
her." 

"  So    the    whole    thing    resolves    itself    down 

to " 

'  To  this — if  one  could  only  devise  a  way  to 
prevent  his  asking  her." 

"  Am  I  mistaken,  or  did  I  hear  you  say  some 
thing  about  putting  it  brutally,  a  few  moments 
ago." 

"  Well,  I  know  it  sounds  rather  horrid,  but  a 
desperate  case  needs  desperate  medicine." 

"  Catherine,  you  have  asked  for  suggestions 
and  advice.  My  suggestion  to  Miss  Pelham  is 
that  she  gracefully  step  down  and  out.  My  ad 
vice  to  you  is  that  you  resist  the  temptation  to 
meddle.  If  Mr.  Van  Brandt  wishes  to  ask  Miss 
Lang  to  marry  him,  he  has  a  man's  right  to  do  so. 
If  Miss  Lang  wishes  to  marry  Mr.  Van  Brandt 
after  he  has  asked  her,  she  has  a  woman's  right 
to  do  so.  Any  interference  whatsoever  would 
be  intolerable.  You  can  take  my  advice  or  leave 
it.  But  if  you  leave  it,  if  you  attempt  to  mix  in, 
you  will  regret  it,  for  you  will  not  be  honorably 
playing  the  game." 


156  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

Mrs.  Sherman's  lips  tightened.  "  That's  all 
very  well,"  she  broke  out  impatiently.  "  That's 
the  sort  of  advice  men  always  give  to  women,  and 
never  act  on  themselves.  It's  not  the  masculine 
way  to  sit  calmly  by  and  let  another  carry  oft 
what  one  wants.  If  a  man  cares,  he  fights  for 
his  rights.  It's  only  when  he  isn't  interested  that 
he's  passive  and  speaks  of  honorably  playing  the 
game.  All's  fair  in  love  and  war!  If  you  were 
in  Amy's  place — if  the  cases  were  reversed — and 
you  saw  something  you'd  set  your  heart  on  being 
deliberately  taken  away  from  you,  I  fancy  you 
wouldn't  gracefully  step  down  and  out.  At  least 
I  don't  see  you  doing  it,  in  my  mind's  eye, 
Horatio !  " 

"  Ah,  but  you  miss  the  point!  There's  a  great 
difference  between  claiming  one's  own  and 
struggling  to  get  possession  of  something  that  is 
lawfully  another's.  If  I  were  in  Miss  Pelham's 
place,  and  were  sure  the  one  I  loved  belonged  to 
me  by  divine  right,  I'd  have  her — I'd  have  her  in 
spite  of  the  devil  and  all  his  works.  But  the  thing 
would  be  to  be  sure.  And  one  couldn't  be  sure  so 
long  as  another  claimant  hadn't  had  his  chance  to 
be  thrown  down.  When  he'd  had  his  chance,  and 
the  decks  were  cleared — then !  " 

"Goodness,  Frank!  I'd  no  idea  you  could  be 
so  intense.  And  I'll  confess  I've  never  given  you 
credit  for  so  much  imagination.  You've  been 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  157 

talking  of  what  you'd  do  in  Amy's  place  quite  as  if 
you  actually  felt  it.  Your  performance  of  the 
determined  lover  is  really  most  convincing." 

Francis  Ronald  smiled.  "  A  man  who's  suc 
ceeded  in  convincing  a  woman  has  not  lived  in 
vain,"  he  said.  "  Well,  I  must  be  off,  Catherine. 
Good  luck  to  you  and  to  Miss  Pelham — but  bad 
luck  if  either  of  you  dares  stick  her  mischievous 
finger  in  other  people's  pies." 

He  strode  out  of  the  room  and  the  house. 

Meanwhile,  Martha,  industriously  engaged  in 
brushing  Miss  Lang's  hair,  was  gradually,  del 
icately  feeling  her  way  toward  what  was,  in 
reality,  the  same  subject. 

"  Well,  of  course,  you  can  have  Cora  if  you 
want  her.  She'll  be  only  too  glad  o'  the  ride, 
but  do  you  think — now  do  you  reelly  think  it's  ad 
visable  to  lug  a  third  party  along  when  it's  clear  as 
dish-water  he  wants  you  alone  by  himself  an'  your- 
self?  It's  this  way  with  men.  If  they  set  out 
to  do  a  thing,  they  gener'ly  do  it.  But  believe 
me,  if  you  put  impederments  in  their  way,  they'll 
shoor  do  it,  an'  then  some.  Now  all  them 
flowers  an'  candy  that's  been  comin'  here  lately  so 
reg'ler,  they  means  business  on  Mr.  Van  Brandt's 
part  if  pleasure  on  yours.  He's  strewin'  your 
path  with  roses  an'  pavin'  it  with  Huyler's 
chocolates,  so's  some  day  in  the  near  future  he 
can  come  marchin'  along  it,  an'  walk  straight  up 


158  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

to  the  captain's  office  an'  hand  in  his  applercation 
for  the  vacancy.  Now,  the  question  is  as  plain 
as  the  nose  on  your  face.  Do  you  want  him  to 
do  it  first  or  do  you  want  him  to  do  it  last?  It's 
up  to  you  to  decide  the  time,  but  you  can  betcher 
life  it's  goin'  to  be  some  time,  Cora  or  no  Cora, 
ohne  oder  mit  as  our  Dutch  friend  acrost  the  hall 
says." 

Claire's  reflection  in  the  mirror  she  sat  facing, 
showed  a  pair  of  sadly  troubled  eyes. 

"  O,  it's  very  puzzling,  Martha,"  she  said. 
"  Somehow,  life  seems  all  topsy-turvy  to  me 
lately.  So  many  things  going  wrong,  so  few 
right." 

"  Now  what,  if  I  may  make  so  bold,  is  wrong 
with  your  gettin'  a  first-class  offer  from  a  well- 
off,  good-lookin'  gen'l'man-friend,  that's  been 
keepin'  comp'ny  with  you,  off  an'  on,  as  you  might 
say,  ever  since  you  was  a  child,  which  shows  that 
his  heart's  in  the  right  place  an'  his  intentions  is 
honorable.  You  know,  you  mustn't  let  the  per- 
cession  get  by  you.  Life's  like  standin'  on  the 
curbstone  watching  the  parade — at  least,  that's 
how  it  seems  to  young  folks.  They  hear  the  mu 
sic  an'  they  see  the  banners  an'  the  floats  an'  they 
think  it's  goin'  to  be  a  continuous  performance. 
After  a  while  they've  got  so  used  to  the  band 
a-playin'  an'  the  flags  a-wavin'  that  it  gets  to  be  an 
old  story,  an'  they  think  that's  what  it'll  be  right 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  159 

along,  so  they  don't  trouble  to  keep  their  eye 
peeled  for  the  fella  with  the  water-can,  which  he 
asked  'em  to  watch  out  for  him.  No,  they  argue 
he's  good  enough  in  his  way,  but — '  Think  o'  the 
fella  with  the  drum !  '  Or  even,  it  might  be,  who 
knows? — the  grand  one  with  his  mother's  big 
black  muff  on  his  head,  doin'  stunts  with  his 
grandfather's  gold-topped  club,  his  grandpa 
havin'  been  a  p'liceman  with  a  pull  in  the  ward. 
An'  while  they  stand  a-waitin'  for  all  the  grandjer 
they're  expectin',  suddenly  it  all  goes  past,  an' 
they  don't  see  nothin'  but  p'raps  a  milk-wagon 
bringin'  up  the  rear,  an'  the  ashfalt  all  strewed 
with  rag-tag-an'-bobtail,  an'  there's  nothin'  doin' 
in  their  direction,  except  turn  around  an'  go  home. 
Now,  what's  the  matter  with  Mr.  Van  Brandt? 
If  you  marry  him  you'll  be  all  to  the  good.  No 
worry  about  the  rent,  no  pinchin'  here  an'  plottin' 
there  to  keep  the  bills  down.  No  goin'  out  by  the 
day,  rain  or  shine,  traipsin'  the  street  on  your 
two  feet  when  you're  so  dead  tired  you  could 
lay  down  an'  let  the  rest  walk  over  you.  Why, 
lookin'  at  it  from  any  standpoint-of-view  I  can't 
see  but  it's  a  grand  oppertoonity.  An'  you're 
fond  of  him,  ain't  you?  " 

"  O,  yes,  I'm  very  fond  of  Mr.  Van  Brandt. 
But  I'm  fond  of  him  as  a  friend.  I  couldn't — 
couldn't — couldn't  ever  marry  him." 

"What  for  you  couldn't?     It  ain't  as  if  you 


160  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

liked  some  other  fella  better!  If  you  liked  some 
other  fella  better,  no  matter  how  little  you  might 
think  you'd  ever  get  the  refusal  of'm,  I'd  say, 
stick  to  the  reel  article:  don't  be  put  of  with  sub- 
stitoots.  It  ain't  no  use  tryin'  to  fool  your  heart. 
You  can  monkey  with  your  brain,  an'  make  it 
believe  all  sorts  of  tommyrot,  but  your  heart  is 
dead  on  to  you,  an'  when  it  once  sets  in  hankerin' 
it  means  business." 

Claire  nodded  unseeingly  to  her  own  reflection 
in  the  glass. 

"  Now  my  idea  is,"  Martha  continued,  "  my 
idea  is,  if  you  got  somethin'  loomin',  why,  don't 
hide  your  face  an'  play  it  isn't  there.  There  ain't 
no  use  standin'  on  the  ragged  edge  till  every 
tooth  in  your  head  chatters  with  cold  an'  fright. 
You  don't  make  nothin'  by  it.  If  you  love  a  man 
like  a  friend  or  if  you  love  a  friend  like  a  man, 
my  advice  is,  take  your  seat  in  the  chair,  grip 
a-holt  o'  the  arms,  brace  your  feet,  an' — let'er 
go,  Gallagher !  It'll  be  over  in  a  minit,  as  the 
dentists  say." 

"  But  suppose  you  had  something  else  on  your 
heart.  Something  that  had  nothing  to  do  with 
—with  that  sort  of  thing?  "  Claire  asked. 

"  What  sorter  thing?  " 

"  Why — love.  Suppose  you'd  done  something 
unworthy  of  you.  Suppose  the  sense  of  having 
done  it  made  you  wretched,  made  you  want  to 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  161 

make  others  wretched?  What  would  you  do — 
then?" 

"  Now,  my  dear,  don't  you  make  no  mistake. 
I  ain't  goin'  to  be  drew  into  no  blindman's  grab- 
bag  little  game,  not  on  your  sweet  life.  I  ain'ter 
goin'  to  risk  havin'  you  hate  me  all  the  rest  o' 
your  nacherl  life  becoz,  to  be  obligin'  an'  also 
to  show  what  a  smart  boy  am  I,  I  give  a  verdick 
without  all  the  everdence  in.  If  you  wanter  tell 
me  plain  out  what's  frettin'  you,  I'll  do  my  best 
accordin'  to  my  lights,  but  otherwise " 

"  Well "  began  Claire,  and  then  followed, 

haltingly,  stumblingly,  the  story  of  her  adventure 
in  the  closet. 

"  At  first  I  felt  nothing  but  the  wound  to  my 
pride,  the  sting  of  what  he — of  what  they  said," 
she  concluded.  "  But,  after  a  little,  I  began  to 
realize  there  was  something  else.  I  began  to  see 
what  /  had  done.  For,  you  know,  I  had  delib 
erately  listened.  I  needn't  have  listened.  If  I 
had  put  my  hands  over  my  ears,  if  I  had  crouched 
back,  away  from  the  door,  and  covered  my  head, 
I  need  not  have  overheard.  But  I  pressed  as 
close  as  I  could  to  the  panel,  and  hardly  breathed, 
because  I  wanted  not  to  miss  a  word.  And  I 
didn't  miss  a  word.  I  heard  what  it  was  never 
meant  I  should  hear,  and — I'm  nothing  but  a 
common — eavesdropper!  " 

"  Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that?  "  observed 


162  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

Mrs.  Slawson.  "  Now,  what  do  you  think  of 
that?" 

"  I've  tried  once  or  twice  to  tell  him "  con 
tinued  Claire. 

"  Tell  who?     Tell  Mr.  Van  Brandt?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Ronald." 

"  O !  You  see,  when  you  speak  o'  he  an'  him 
it  might  mean  almost  any  gen'l'man.  But  I'll  try 
to  remember  you're  always  referrin'  to  Mr. 
Ronald." 

"  I've  tried  once  or  twice  to  tell  him,  for  I  can't 
bear  to  be  untruthful.  But,  then,  I  remember 
I'm  '  only  the  governess  ' — '  the  right  person  in 
the  right  place  ' — of  so  little  account  that — that 
he  doesn't  even  know  whether  I'm  pretty  or  not! 
And  the  words  choke  in  my  throat.  I  realize  it 
wouldn't  mean  anything  to  him.  He'd  only  prob 
ably  gaze  down  at  me,  or  he'd  be  kind  in  that 
lofty  way  he  has — and  put  me  in  my  place,  as  he 
did  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  him.  And  so,  I've 
never  told  him.  I  couldn't.  But  sometimes  I 
think  if  I  did — if  I  just  made  myself  do  it,  I  could 
hold  up  my  head  again  and  not  feel  myself  grow 
ing  bitter  and  sharp,  because  something  is  hurting 
me  in  my  conscience." 

"  That's  it!  "  said  Martha  confidently.  "  It's 
your  conscience.  Believe  me,  consciences  is  the 
dickens  an'  all  for  makin'  a  mess  o'  things,  when 
they  get  right  down  to  business.  Now,  if  I  was 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  163 

you,  I  wouldn't  bother  Mr.  Ronald  with  my 
squalms  o'  conscience.  Very  prob'ly  when  it 
comes  to  consciences  he  has  troubles  of  his  own — 
at  least,  if  he  ain't,  he's  an  exception  an'  a  rare 
curiosity,  an'  Mr.  Pierpont  Morgan  oughter 
buy  him  for  the  Museum.  When  your  conscience 
tells  you  you'd  oughter  tell,  ten  to  one  you'd 
oughtn't.  Give  other  folks  a  chance.  What 
they  don't  know  can't  worry  'em.  Besides,  your 
just  tellin'  a  thing  don't  let  you  out.  You  can't 
get  clear  so  easy  as  that.  It's  up  to  you  to  work 
it  out,  so  what's  wrong  is  made  right,  an'  do  it 
yourself — not  trust  to  nobody  else.  You  can't 
square  up  by  heavin'  your  load  offn  your  own 
shoulders  onto  another  fella's.  You  think  you 
feel  light  coz  you  done  your  dooty,  when  ten  to 
one  you  done  your  friend.  No !  I  wouldn't  ad 
vise  turnin'  state's  everdence  on  yourself  unless  it 
was  to  save  another  from  the  gallus.  As  it  is, 
you  can  take  it  from  me,  the  best  thing  you  can 
do  for  that — conscience  o'  yours,  is  get  busy  in 
another  direction.  Dress  yourself  up  as  fetchin' 
as  you  can,  go  out  motorin'  with  your  gen'l'man 
friend  like  he  ast  you  to,  let  him  get  his  perposal 
offn  his  chest,  an'  then  tell'm — you'll  be  a  sister 
to'm." 


CHAPTER  XV 

SAM  SLAWSON  had  gone  to  the  Adiron- 
dacks  in  January,  personally  conducted  by 
Mr.  Blennerhasset,  Mr.  Ronald's  secretary,  Mr. 
Ronald,  in  the  most  unemotional  and  business-like 
manner,  having  assumed  all  the  responsibilities 
connected  with  the  trip  and  Sam's  stay  at  the 
Sanatorium. 

It  was  Claire  who  told  Mr.  Ronald  of  the 
Slawsons'  difficulty.  How  Martha  saw  no  way 
out,  and  still  was  struggling  gallantly  on,  trying 
single-handed  to  meet  all  obligations  at  home 
and,  in  addition,  send  her  husband  away. 

"  That's  too  much — even  for  Martha,"  he  ob 
served. 

"  If  I  only  knew  how  to  get  Sam  to  the  moun 
tains,"  Claire  said  in  a  sort  of  desperation. 

"  You  have  just  paved  the  way." 

"How?" 

"  You  have  told  me." 
'  You  are  going  to  help?  " 

"Yes." 

"O,  how  beautiful!" 

"  I  am  glad  that,  for  once,  I  have  the  good 
fortune  to  please  you." 

164 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  165 

Claire's  happy  smile  faded.  She  turned  her 
face  away,  pretending  to  busy  herself  with  Rad- 
cliffe's  books. 

"  I  see  I  have  offended  once  more." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  faced  him 
squarely. 

"  There  can  be  no  question  of  your  either 
pleasing  or  offending  me,  Mr.  Ronald.  What 
you  are  doing  for  Martha  makes  me  glad,  of 
course,  but  that  is  only  because  I  rejoice  in  any 
good  that  may  come  to  her.  I  would  not  take 
it  upon  myself  to  praise  you  for  doing  a  generous 
act,  or  to  blame  you  if  you  didn't  do  it." 

"  '  Cr-r-rushed  again!  '  "  observed  Francis  Ron 
ald  gravely,  but  with  a  lurking,  quizzical  light  of 
laughter  in  his  eyes. 

For  an  instant  Claire  was  inclined  to  be  resent 
ful.  Then,  her  sense  of  humor  coming  to  the 
rescue,  she  dropped  her  heroics  and  laughed  out 
blithely. 

"  How  jolly  it  must  be  to  have  a  lot  of  money 
and  be  able  to  do  all  sorts  of  helpful,  generous 
things !  "  she  said  lightly. 

"  You  think  money  the  universal  solvent?  " 

"  I  think  the  lack  of  it  the  universal  ///solvent." 

u  I  hope  you  don't  lay  too  much  emphasis  on 
it." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  it  might  lead  you  to  do  violence  to 
your  better  impulses,  your  higher  instincts." 


166  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"  Why  should  a  man  think  he  has  the  right  to 
say  that  sort  of  thing  to  a  woman?  Would  you 
consider  it  a  compliment  if  I  suggested  that  your 
principles  were  hollow — negotiable?  That  they 
were  For  Sale  or  To  Let,  like  an  empty  house?  " 

"  I  suppose  most  men  would  tell  you  they 
have  no  use  for  principle  in  their  business — only 
principal." 

"  And  you  think  women " 

"  Generally  women  have  both  principle  and  in 
terest  in  the  business  of  life.  That's  why  we  look 
to  them  to  keep  up  the  moral  standard.  That's 
why  we  feel  it  to  be  unworthy  of  her  when  a  girl 
makes  a  mercenary  marriage." 

The  indignant  blood  sprang  to  Claire's  cheeks. 
What  business  had  he  to  interfere  in  her  affairs, 
to  warn  her  against  marrying  Bob  Van  Brandt, 
assuming  that,  if  she  did  marry  him,  it  would  be 
only  for  money.  She  was  glad  that  Radcliffe 
bounded  in  just  then,  throwing  himself  upon  her 
in  his  eagerness  to  tell  her  all  that  had  befallen 
him  during  their  long  separation  of  two  hours, 
when  he  had  been  playing  on  the  Mall  under 
Beetrice's  unwatchful  eye. 

In  spite  of  Martha,  Claire  had  just  been  on 
the  point  of  confessing  to  Mr.  Ronald.  He  had 
seemed  so  friendly,  so  much  less  formidable  than 
at  any  time  since  that  first  morning.  But  she 
must  have  been  mistaken,  for  here  were  all  the  old 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  167 

barriers  up  in  an  instant,  and  with  them  the  re 
sentful  fire  in  her  heart. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  memory  of  this  conversa 
tion  that  made  her  feel  so  ill  at  ease  with  Robert 
Van  Brandt.  She  could  not  understand  herself. 
Why  should  she  feel  so  uncomfortable  with  her 
old  friend?  She  could  not  help  being  aware 
that  he  cared  for  her,  but  why  did  the  thought 
of  his  telling  her  so  make  her  feel  like  a  culprit? 
Why  should  he  not  tell  her?  Why  should  she 
not  listen?  One  thing  she  felt  she  knew — if  he 
did  tell  her,  and  she  refused  to  listen,  he  would 
give  it  up.  He  would  not  persist. 

She  remembered  how,  as  a  little  girl,  she  had 
looked  up  to  him  reverentially  as  "  big  Robby 
Van  Brandt."  He  was  a  hero  to  her  in  those 
days,  until — he  had  let  himself  be  balked  of 
what  he  had  started  out  to  get.  If  he  had  only 
persisted,  insisted,  who  knows — maybe 

She  was  sure  that  if  he  offered  her  his  love  and 
she  refused  to  accept  it,  he  would  not,  like  the 
nursery-rhyme  model,  try,  try  again.  He  would 
give  up  and  go  away — and  in  her  loneliness  she 
did  not  want  him  to  go  away.  Was  she  selfish? 
she  wondered.  Selfish  or  no,  she  could  not  bring 
herself  to  follow  Martha's  advice  and  "  let'm  get 
his  perposal  offn  his  chest." 

It  was  early  in  April  before  he  managed  to 
do  it. 


1 68  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

She  and  Radcliffe  had  gone  to  the  Park.  Rad- 
cliffe  was  frisking  about  in  the  warm  sunshine, 
while  Claire  watched  him  from  a  nearby  bench, 
when,  suddenly,  Mr.  Van  Brandt  dropped  into 
the  seat  beside  her. 

He  did  not  approach  his  subject  gradually. 
He  plunged  in  desperately,  headlong,  heartlong, 
seeming  oblivious  to  everything  and  every  one 
save  her. 

When,  at  last,  he  left  her,  she,  knowing  it  was 
for  always,  was  sorely  tempted  to  call  him  back. 
She  did  care  for  him,  in  a  way,  and  the  life  his 
love  opened  up  to  her  would  be  very  different 
from  this.  And  yet 

She  closed  her  cold  fingers  about  Radcliffe's 
little  warm  ones,  and  rose  to  lead  him  across 
the  Plaza.  She  did  not  wonder  at  his  being  so 
conveniently  close  at  hand,  nor  at  his  unwonted 
silence  all  the  way  home.  She  had  not  realized, 
until  now  that  it  was  snapped,  how  much  the  link 
between  this  and  her  old  home-life  had  meant  to 
her.  It  meant  so  much  that  tears  were  very 
near  the  surface  all  that  day,  and  even  at  night, 
when  Martha  was  holding  forth  to  her  brood, 
they  were  not  altogether  to  be  suppressed. 

"  Easter  comes  early  this  year,"  Mrs.  Slawson 
observed. 

" 'M  I  going  to  have  a  new  hat?"  inquired 
Cora. 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  169 

"  What  for  do  you  need  a  new  hat,  I  should 
like  to  know?  I  s'pose  you  think  you'll  walk  up 
Fifth  Avenoo  in  the  church  parade,  an'  folks'll 
stare  at  you,  an'  nudge  each  other  an'  whisper — 
'  Looka  there !  That's  Miss  Cora  Slawson  that 
you  read  so  much  about  in  the  papers.  That  one 
on  the  right-hand  side,  wearin'  the  French  shappo, 
with  the  white  ribbon,  an'  the  grand  vinaigrette 
onto  it.  Ain't  she  han'some?  ' 

"  I  think  you're  real  mean  to  make  fun  of 
me!  "  pouted  Cora. 

"  I  got  a  dollar  an'  a  half  for  the  Easter 
singin',"  announced  Sammy.  "  Coz  I'm  per- 
moted  an'  I'm  goin'  to  sing  a  solo !  " 

"  Careful  you  don't  get  your  head  so  turned 
you  sing  outer  the  other  side  o'  your  mouth," 
cautioned  Martha.  "  'Stead  o'  crowin'  so  much, 
you  better  make  sure  you  know  your  colic." 

l(  What  you  goin'  to  do  with  your  money?  "  in 
quired  Francie,  unable  to  conceive  of  possessing 
such  vast  riches. 

"  I  do'  know." 

"  Come  here  an'  I'll  tell  you,"  said  his  mother. 
"  Whisper!" 

At  first  Sammy's  face  did  not  reveal  any  great 
amount  of  satisfaction  at  the  words  breathed  into 
his  ear,  but  after  a  moment  it  fairly  glowed. 

"  Ain't  that  grand?  "  asked  Martha. 

Sammy  beamed,  then  went  off  whistling. 


170  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"  He's  goin'  to  invest  it  in  a  hat  for  Cora  as 
a  s'prise,  me  addin'  my  mite  to  the  fun'  an'  not 
lettin'  him  be  any  the  wiser.  An'  Cora,  she's 
goin'  to  get  him  a  pair  o'  shoes  with  her  bank 
pennies,  an'  be  this  an'  be  that,  the  one  thinks 
he's  clothin'  the  other,  an'  is  proud  as  Punch  of 
it,  which  they're  learnin'  manners  the  same  time 
they're  bein'  dressed,"  Martha  explained  to 
Claire  later. 

"  I  wish  you'd  tell  that  to  Radcliffe,"  Claire 
said.  "  He  loves  to  hear  about  the  children,  and 
he  can  learn  so  much  from  listening  to  what  is 
told  of  other  kiddies'  generosities  and  self- 
denials." 

Martha  shook  her  head.  "  There's  nothin' 
worth  tellin',"  she  said.  "  An'  besides,  if  I 
told'm,  he  might  go  an'  tell  his  mother  or  his 
Uncle  Frank,  an'  they  might  think  I  was  puttin' 
in  a  bid  for  a  Easter-egg  on  my  own  account. 
Radcliffe  is  a  smart  little  fella !  He  knows  a 
thing  or  two — an'  sometimes  three,  an'  don't  you 
forget  it." 

That  Radcliffe  u  knew  a  thing  or  two — an'  some 
times  three,"  he  proved  beyond  a  doubt  to 
Martha  next  day  when,  as  she  was  busy  cleaning 
his  Uncle  Frank's  closet,  he  meandered  up  to  her 
and  casually  observed: 

"  Say,  you  know  what  I  told  you  once  'bout 
Miss  Lang  bein'  Mr.  Van  Brandt's  best  girl?  " 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  171 

"  Yes." 

"Well,  she  ain't!" 

"Why  ain't  she?" 

"  I  was  lookin'  out  o'  the  window  in  my 
mother's  sittin'-room  yesterday  mornin',  an'  when 
my  mother  an'  my  Uncle  Frank  they  came  up 
from  breakfast,  they  didn't  see  me  coz  I  was 
back  o'  the  curtains.  My  mother  she  had  a  letter 
Shaw,  he  just  gave  her,  and  when  she  read  it  she 
clapped  her  hands  together  an'  laughed,  an'  my 
Uncle  Frank  he  said,  'Why  such  joy?'  an'  she 
said,  '  The  greatest  news !  Amy  Pelham  is  en 
gaged  to  Mr.  Van  Brandt!'  An'  my  Uncle 
Frank,  his  face  got  dark  red  all  at  once,  an'  he 
said  to  my  mother,  '  Catherine,  are  you  'sponsible 
for  that?  '  an'  she  said,  '  I  never  lifted  a  finger. 
I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,  Frank! '  An'  then 
my  Uncle  Frank  he  looked  better.  An'  my 
mother  she  said,  '  You  see,  he  couldn't  have  cared 
for  Miss  Lang,  after  all — I  mean,  the  way  we 
thought.'  An'  he  said,  'Why  not?'  An'  she 
said,  '  Coz  if  he  had  asked  her,  she  would  have 
taken  him,  for  no  poor  little  governess  is  going 
to  throw  away  a  chance  like  that.  No  sensible 
girl  would  say  no  to  Bob  Van  Brandt  with  all  his 
Vantages.  She'd  jump  at  him,  an'  you  couldn't 
blame  her.' 

"  An'  then  my  mother  an'  my  Uncle  Frank  they 
jumped,  for  I  came  out  from  behind  the  curtains 


172  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

where  I'd  been  lookin'  out,  an'  I  said,  '  She  would 
too  say  no!  My  Miss  Lang,  she's  sensible,  an' 
one  time  in  the  Park,  when  Mr.  Van  Brandt  he 
asked  her  to  take  him  an'  everything  he  had 
(that's  what  he  said!  "  Take  me  an'  everything  I 
have,  an'  do  what  you  want  with  me!"),  Miss 
Lang  she  said,  "No,  Bob,  I  can't!  I  wish  I 
could,  for  your  sake,  if  you  want  me  so — but — I 
can't."  An'  Mr.  Van  Brandt  he  felt  so  bad,  I 
was  sorry.  When  I  thought  Miss  Lang  was  his 
best  girl,  I  didn't  like  him,  but  I  didn't  want  him 
to  feel  as  bad  as  that.  An'  he  went  off  all  alone 

by  himself,  an'  Miss  Lang Only  I  couldn't 

tell  any  more,  for  my  Uncle  Frank,  he  said  reel 
sharp,  'That's  enough,  Radcliffe!'  But  last 
night  he  brought  me  home  a  dandy  boat  I  can 
sail  on  the  Lake,  with  riggin'  an'  a  center-board, 
an',  O,  lots  o'  things!  An'  so  I  guess  he  wasn't 
so  very  mad,  after  all." 


CHAPTER  XVI 


"  TV/T°ST  like  it>S  the  Spring'"  said  Martha- 
J.VJL       It  was  Memorial  Day.     She  and  Miss 

Lang  were  at  home,  sitting  together  in  Claire's 
pretty  room,  through  the  closed  blinds  of  which 
the  hot  May  sun  sent  tempered  shafts  of  light. 

Claire  regarded  Mrs.  Slawson  steadily  for  a 
moment,  seeming  to  make  some  sort  of  mental 
calculation  meanwhile. 

'  Well,  if  it  is  the  Spring,"  she  observed  at 
length  with  a  whimsical  little  frown  knitting  her 
brows,  "  it's  mighty  forehanded,  for  it  began  to 
get  in  its  fine  work  as  far  back  as  January.  Ever 
since  the  time  Sam  went  to  the  Sanatorium  you've 
been  losing  flesh  and  color,  Martha,  and  —  I  don't 
know  what  to  do  about  it!  " 

"Do  about  it!"  repeated  Mrs.  Slawson. 
'  Why,  there  ain't  nothin'  to  do  about  it,  but  let 
the  good  work  go  on.  I'm  in  luck,  if  it's  true 
what  you  say.  Believe  me,  there's  lots  o'  ladies 
in  this  town,  is  starvin'  their  stummicks  an'  every- 
thin'  else  about  'em,  an'  payin'  the  doctors  high 
besides,  just  to  get  delicate-complected,  an'  airy- 
fairy  figgers,  same's  I'm  doin'  without  turnin'  a 
hand.  Did  you  never  hear  o'  bantin'?  It's  what 

173 


174  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

the  high-toned  doctors  recommend  to  thin  down 
ladies  who  have  it  so  comfortable  they're  uncom 
fortable.  The  doctors  prescribes  exercise  for'm, 
an'  they  take  it,  willin'  as  doves,  whereas  if  their 
husbands  said,  '  Say,  old  woman,  while  you're 
restin',  just  scrub  down  the  cellar-stairs  good— 
that'll  take  the  flesh  off'n  you  quicker'n  anythin' 
else  /  know !  '  they'd  get  a  divorce  from  him  so 
quick  you  couldn't  see  'em  for  dust.  No,  they'd 
not  do  anythin'  so  low  as  cellar-stairs,  to  save  their 
lives.  You  couldn't  please  'em  better'n  to  see  an 
other  woman  down  on  her  marra-bones  workin' 
for  'em,  but  get  down  themselves?  Not  on  your 
sweet  life,  they  wouldn't.  They'd  rather  bant. 
Bantin'  sounds  so  much  more  stylisher  than  scrub- 
bin'." 

Claire  smiled,  but  her  eyes  were  very  serious 
as  she  said,  "  All  the  same,  Martha,  I  believe 
you  are  grieving  your  heart  out  for  Sam.  I've 
been  watching  you  when  you  didn't  know  it,  and 
I've  seen  the  signs  and  the  tokens.  Your  heart 
has  the  hunger-ache  in  it!  " 

"  Now,  what  do  you  think  o'  that!  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Slawson.  "  What  do  you  know  about 
hearts  an'  hunger-aches,  I  should  like  to  know. 
You,  an  unmarried  maiden-girl,  without  so  much 
as  the  shadder  or  the  skelegan  of  a  beau,  as  far 
as  /  can  see.  What  do  you  know  about  a  woman 
hungerin'  an'  cravin'  for  her  own  man?  You 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  175 

have  to  have  reelly  felt  them  things  yourself,  to 
know  the  signs  of  'em  in  other  folks." 

Claire's  lip  trembled,  but  she  did  not  reply. 

When  Martha  spoke  again  it  was  as  if  she  had 
replied. 

"  O,  go  'way!  You  ain't  never  had  a  leanin' 
in  any  genTman's  direction,  I'd  be  willin'  to 
wager.  An'  yet,  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  you  been 
gettin'  kinder  white  an'  scrawny  yourself  lately, 
beggin'  your  pardon  for  bein'  so  bold  as  notice  it. 
Mind,  I  ain't  the  faintest  notion  of  holdin'  it 
against  you !  I  know  better  than  think  you  been 
settin'  your  affections  on  anybody.  There's  other 
things  besides  love  gives  you  that  tired  feelin'. 
What  you  need  is  somethin'  to  brace  you  up,  an' 
clear  your  blood,  like  Hoodses  Sassperilla. 
Everybody  feels  the  way  you  do,  this  time  o' 
year.  I  heard  a  young  saleslady  (she  wasn't  a 
woman,  mind  you,  she  was  a  saleslady} ,  I  heard  a 
young  saleslady  in  the  car  the  other  mornin1  com 
plain — she  was  the  reel  dressy  kind,  you  know, 
with  more'n  a  month's  pay  of  hair,  boilin'  over 
on  the  back  of  her  head  in  puffs  an'  things — the 
gallus  sort  that,  if  you  want  to  buy  a  yard  o'  good 
flannen  off  her,  will  sass  you  up  an'  down  to 
your  face,  as  fresh  as  if  she  was  your  own 
daughter — she  was  complainin'  '  the  Spring  al 
ways  made  her  feel  so  sorter,  kinder,  so  awful 
la-anguid.' ' 


176  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"  Martha,  dear,"  broke  in  Claire  irrelevantly, 
"  I  wonder  if  you'd  mind  very  much  if  I  told 
Mr.  Ronald  the  truth.  He  thinks  you  were  an 
old  family  servant.  He  thinks  you  nursed  me 
till  I  was  able  to  walk." 

Martha  considered.  "Well,  ain't  that  the 
truth?"  she  asked  blandly.  "I  lived  out  from 
the  time  I  was  twelve  years  old.  That  was  in 
Mrs.  Granville's  mother's  house.  When  I  was 
sixteen  I  went  to  Mrs.  Granville's.  I  was 
kitchen-maid  there  first-off,  an'  gradjelly  she  pro 
moted  me  till  I  was  first  housemaid.  I  never  left 
her  till  I  got  married.  If  that  don't  make  me 
an  old  family  servant,  I'd  like  to  know." 

"  But  he  thinks  you  were  an  old  family  servant 
in  our  house." 

''  Well,  bless  your  heart,  that's  his  business,  not 
mine.  How  can  I  help  what  he  thinks?  " 

"  Didn't  you  tell  him,  Martha  dear,  that  you 
nursed  me  till  I  was  able  to  walk?  " 

"Shoor  I  did!  An'  it's  the  livin'  truth. 
What's  the  matter  with  that?  Believe  me,  you 
wasn't  good  for  more  than  a  minit  or  two  more  on 
your  legs,  when  I  got  you  into  your  bed  that 
blessed  night.  You  was  clean  bowled  over,  an' 
you  couldn't  'a'  walked  another  step  if  you'd 
been  killed  for  it.  Didn't  I  nurse  you  them  days 
you  was  in  bed,  helplesslike  as  a  baby?  Didn't  I 
nurse  you  till  you  could  walk?  " 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  177 

"  Indeed  you  did.  And  that's  precisely  the 
point!  "  said  Claire.  "  If  Mr.  Ronald — if  Mrs. 
Sherman  knew  the  truth,  that  I  was  poor,  home 
less,  without  a  friend  in  New  York  the  night  you 
picked  me  up  on  the  street,  and  carried  me  home 
and  cared  for  me  without  knowing  a  thing  about 
me,  they  mightn't — they  wouldn't  have  taken  me 
into  their  house  and  given  me  their  little  boy  to 
train.  And  because  they  wouldn't,  I  want  to  tell 
them.  I  want  to  square  myself.  I  ought  to  have 
told  them  long  ago.  I  want " 

4  You  want  'em  to  bounce  you,"  observed  Mrs. 
Slawson  calmly.  "  Well,  there's  always  more'n 
one  way  of  lookin'  at  things.  For  instance,  any 
good  chambermaid,  with  experience,  will  tell  you 
there's  three  ways  of  dustin'.  The  first  is,  do  it 
thora,  wipin'  the  rungs  o'  the  chairs,  an'  the  backs 
o'  the  pictures,  an'  under  the  books  on  the  table 
like.  The  second  is,  just  sorter  flashin'  your 
rag  over  the  places  that  shows,  an'  the  third  is — 
pull  down  the  shades.  They're  all  good  enough 
ways  in  their  own  time  an'  place,  an'  you  foller 
them  accordin'  to  your  disposition  or,  if  you're 
nacherelly  particular,  accordin'  to  the  other 
things  you  got  to  do,  in  the  time  you  got  to  do  'em 
in.  Now,  I'm  particular.  I'm  the  nacherelly 
thora  kind,  but  if  I'm  pressed,  an'  there's  more 
important  things  up  to  me  than  the  dustin',  I  give 
it  a  lick  an'  a  promise,  same  as  the  next  one,  an' 


178  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

let  it  go  at  that,  till  the  time  comes  I  can  do 
better.  Life's  too  short  to  fuss  an'  fidget  your 
soul  out  over  trifles.  It  ain't  always  what  you 
want,  but  what  you  must.  You  sometimes  got  to 
cut  short  at  one  end  so's  you  can  piece  out  at 
another,  an'  you  can  take  it  from  me,  you  only 
pester  folks  by  gettin'  'm  down  where  they  can't 
resist  you,  an'  forcin'  a  lot  of  hard  facks  down 
their  throats,  which  ain't  the  truth  anyhow,  an' 
which  they  don't  want  to  swaller  on  no  account. 
What  do  they  care  about  the  machinery,  so  long 
as  it  turns  out  the  thing  they  want?  Believe  me, 
it's  foolishness  to  try  to  get  'em  back  into  the 
works,  pokin'  about  among  the  inside  wheels  an' 
springs,  an'  so  forth.  You  likely  get  knocked 
senseless  by  some  big  thing-um-bob  you  didn't 
know  was  there.  Now  I  know  just  eggsackly 
what's  in  your  mind,  but  you're  wrong.  You 
think  I  told  Mr.  Ronald  fibs.  I  didn't  tell'm 
fibs.  I  just  give'm  the  truth  the  way  he'd  take  it, 
like  you  give  people  castor-oil  that's  too  dainty 
to  gullup  it  down  straight.  Some  likes  it  in 
lemon,  an'  some  in  grobyules,  but  it's  castor-oil  all 
the  same.  He  wanted  to  know  the  truth  about 
you,  an'  I  let  him  have  it,  the  truth  bein'  you're 
as  fine  a  lady  as  any  in  the  land.  If  I'd  hap 
pened  to  live  in  Grand  Rapids  at  the  time,  I'd 
most  likely  of  lived  out  with  your  grandmother, 
an'  been  an  old  family  servant  in  your  house  like  I 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  179 

was  at  Mrs.  Granville's,  an'  I  certainly  would  of 
nursed  you  if  I'd  had  the  chanct.  It  was  just  a 
case  o'  happenso,  my  not  havin'  it.  The  right 
kind  o'  folks  here  in  New  York  is  mighty  squeam 
ish  about  strangers.  They  want  recommenda 
tions — they  want  'em  because  they  want  to  be 
sure  the  ones  they  engage  is  O.  K.  That's  all 
recommendations  is  for,  ain't  it?  Now  I  knew 
the  minit  I  clapped  eye  to  you,  that,  as  I  say,  you 
was  as  grand  a  lady  as  any  in  the  land,  an'  that 
bein'  the  case,  what  was  the  use  o'  frettin'  be 
cause  I  hadn't  more  than  your  sayso  to  prove  it. 
But  if  I'd  pulled  a  long  face  to  Mrs.  Sherman,  an' 
told  her,  hesitatin'-like  an'  nervous,  about — well, 
about  what  took  place  that  night,  she,  not  havin' 
much  experience  of  human  nature  (only  the  other 
kind  that's  more  common  here  in  New  York 
City) ,  she'd  have  hemmed,  an'  hawed,  an'  thought 
she'd  better  not  try  it,  seein'  Radcliffe  is  such  an 
angel-child  an'  not  to  be  trained  except  by  a  A-i 
Lady." 

"  But  the  truth,"  persisted  Claire. 

"  I  tell  the  truth,"  Mrs.  Slawson  returned  with 
quiet  dignity.  "  I  only  don't  waste  time  on 
trifles." 

"  It  is  not  wasting  time  on  trifles  to  be  exact 
and  accurate.  An  architect  planning  a  house 
must  make  every  little  detail  true,  else  when  the 
house  goes  up,  it  won't  stand." 


i8o  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"  Don't  he  have  to  reckon  nothin'  on  the  give 
or  not-give  of  the  things  he's  dealin'  with?"  de 
manded  Martha.  "  I'm  only  a  ignorant  woman, 
an'  I  ask  for  information.  When  you're  dress- 
makin'  you  have  to  allow  for  the  seams,  an'  when 
you're  makin' — well,  other  things,  you  have  to  do 
the  same  thing,  only  spelled  a  little  different — you 
have  to  allow  for  the  seems.  Most  folks  don't 
do  it,  an'  that's  where  a  lot  o'  trouble  comes  in, 
or  so  it  appears  to  me." 

Claire  twisted  her  ring  in  silence,  gazing  down 
at  it  the  while  as  if  the  operation  was,  of  all 
others,  the  most  important  and  absorbing. 

"  We  may  not  agree,  Martha  dear,"  she  said 
at  last,  "  but  anyway  I  know  you're  good,  good, 
good,  and  I  wouldn't  hurt  your  feelings  for  the 
world." 

"Shoor!  I  know  you  wouldn't!  An'  they 
ain't  hurt.  Not  in  the  least.  You  got  one 
kinder  conscience  an'  I  got  another,  that's  all. 
Consciences  is  like  hats.  One  that  suits  one  party 
would  make  another  look  like  a  guy.  You  got 
to  have  your  own  style.  You  got  to  know  what's 
best  for  you,  an'  then  stick  to  it!" 

"  And  you  won't  object  if  I  tell  Mr.  Ron 
ald?  " 

"  Objeck?  Certainly  not!  Tell'm  anything 
you  like.  /  always  was  fond  o'  Mr.  Ronald  my 
self.  I  never  thought  he  was  as  hard  an'  stern 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  181 

with  a  body  as  some  thinks.  Some  thinks  he's  as 
hard  as  nails,  but " 

"  O,  I'm  sure  he's  not,"  cried  Claire  with  unex 
pected  loyalty.  "  His  manner  may  seem  a  little 
cold  and  proud  sometimes,  but  I  know  he's  very 
kind  and  generous." 

"  Certaintly.  So  do  I  know  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Slawson.  "  I  don't  say  I  mayn't  be  mistaken,  but 
I  have  the  highest  opinion  o'  Lor — Mr.  Ronald. 
I  think  you  could  trust'm  do  the  square  thing,  no 
matter  what,  an'  if  he  was  kinder  harsh  doin'  it, 
it's  only  because  he  expects  a  body  to  be  perfect 
like  he  is  himself." 

In  the  next  room  Sabina  was  shouting  at  the 
top  of  her  lungs — "  Come  back  to  ear-ring,  my 
voornean,  my  voornean!  " 

"  Ain't  it  a  caution  what  lungs  that  child  has — 
considerin'?  "  Martha  reflected.  "  Just  hear  her 
holler!  She'd  wake  the  dead.  I  wonder  if  she's 
tryin'  to  beat  that  auta  whoopin'  it  up  outside. 
Have  you  ever  noticed  them  autas  nowadays? 
Some  of  them  has  such  croupy  coughs,  before  I 
know  it  I'm  huntin'  for  a  flannen  an'  a  embrerca- 
tion.  'Xcuse  me  a  minit  while  I  go  answer  the 
bell." 

A  second  later  she  returned.  A  step  in  ad 
vance  of  her  was  Mr.  Ronald. 

"  I  am  lucky  to  find  you  at  home,  Martha," 
were  the  first  words  Claire  heard  him  say. 


1 82  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

Martha,  by  dint  of  a  little  unobservable 
maneuvering,  managed  to  superimpose  her  sub 
stantial  shadow  upon  Claire's  frail  one. 

"  Yes,  sir.  When  I  get  a  day  to  lay  off  in, 
you  couldn't  move  me  outer  the  house  with  a  der 
rick,"  she  announced.  "  Miss  Lang's  here, 
too.  Bein'  so  dim,  an'  comin'  in  outer  the 
sunlight,  perhaps  you  don't  make  out  to  see 
her." 

"  She  ain't  had  time  yet  to  pull  herself  to 
gether,"  Mrs.  Slawson  inwardly  noted.  "  But, 
Lord !  I  couldn't  stand  in  front  of  her  forever,  an' 
even  if  a  girl  is  dead  in  love  with  a  man  (more 
power  to  her!),  that's  no  reason  she  should  go 
to  the  other  extreme  to  hide  it,  an'  pertend  she's 
a  cold  storage,  warranted  to  freeze'm  stiff,  like 
the  artificial  ice  they're  makin'  these  days,  in  the 
good  old  summertime." 

The  first  cold  greetings  over,  Claire  started  to 
retreat  in  the  direction  of  the  door. 

"  Excuse  me,  please — I  promised  Francie 

She's  expecting  me — she's  waiting " 

"  Pshaw  now,  let  her  wait!  "  said  Martha. 

"  Don't  let  me  detain  Miss  Lang  if  she  wishes 
to  go,"  interposed  Mr.  Ronald.  "  My  business 
is  really  with  you,  Martha." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  But  I'd  like  Miss  Lang  to 
stay  by,  all  the  same — that  is,  if  you  don't  ob- 
jeck." 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  183 

"As  a  witness?  You  think  I  need  watching, 
eh?" 

"  I  think  it  does  a  body  good  to  watch  you, 
sir!" 

"  I  didn't  know  before,  you  were  a  flatterer, 
Martha.  But  I  see  you're  a  lineal  descendant  of 
the  Blarney  Stone." 

Claire  felt  herself  utterly  ignored.  She  tried 
again  to  slip  away,  but  Martha's  strong  hand  de 
tained  her,  bore  her  down  into  the  place  she  had 
just  vacated. 

"  How  is  Francie?  "  inquired  Mr.  Ronald,  tak 
ing  the  chair  Mrs.  Slawson  placed  for  him. 

"  Fine — thank  you,  sir.  The  doctors  says  they 
never  see  a  child  get  well  so  fast.  She's  grown 
so  fat  an'  big,  there  ain't  a  thing  belongs  to  her 
will  fit  her  any  longer,  they're  all  shorter,  an'  she 
has  to  go  whacks  with  Cora  on  her  clo'es." 

"  Perhaps  she'd  enjoy  a  little  run  out  into  the 
country  this  afternoon  in  my  car.  The  other 
children,  too?  And — possibly — Miss  Lang." 

"  I'm  sure  they'd  all  thank  you  kindly,  sir,"  be 
gan  Martha,  when — "  I'm  sorry,"  said  Claire 
coldly,  "  I  can't  go." 

Mr.  Ronald  did  not  urge  her.  "  It  is  early. 
We  have  plenty  of  time  to  discuss  the  ride  later," 
he  observed  quietly.  "  Meanwhile,  what  I  have 
in  mind,  Martha,  is  this:  Mr.  Slawson  has  been  at 
the  Sanatorium  now  for ?  " 


1 84  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"  Coin'  on  five  months,"  said  Martha. 

"And  the  doctors  think  him  improved?" 

"  Well,  on  the  whole,  yes,  sir.  His  one  lung 
(sounds  kinder  Chineesy,  don't  it?),  his  one  lung 
ain't  no  worse — it's  better  some — only  he  keeps 
losin'  flesh  an'  that  puzzles'm." 

"  Do  you  think  he  is  contented  there?  " 

"  He  says  he  is.  He  says  it's  the  grand  place, 
an'  they're  all  as  good  to'm  as  if  he  was  the  king 
o'  Harlem.  You  seen  to  that,  sir — he  says.  An' 
Sam,  he's  always  pationate,  no  matter  what  comes, 
but " 

"  Well— but?  " 

"  But — only  just,  it  ain't  home,  you  know, 
sir!" 

"  I  see.  And  the  doctors  think  he  ought  to 
stay  up  there?  Not  return  home — here,  I 
mean?  " 

"  That's  what  they  say." 

"  Have  you — the  means  to  keep  him  at  the 
Sanatorium  over  the  five  months  we  settled  for  in 
January?  " 

"  No,  sir.     That  is,  not — not  yet." 

'  Would  you  like  to  borrow  enough  money  to 
see  him  through  the  rest  of  the  year?  " 

Martha  deliberated.  "  I  may  have  to,  sir," 
she  said  at  last  with  a  visible  effort.  "  But  I 
don't  like  to  borrer.  I  notice  when  folks  gets 
the  borrerin'-habit  they're  slow  payin'  back,  an' 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  185 

then  you  don't  get  thanks  for  a  gift  or  you  don't 
get  credit  for  a  loan." 

This  time  it  was  Mr.  Ronald  who  seemed  to 
be  considering.  "  Right!  "  he  announced  pres 
ently.  "  I  notice  you  go  into  things  rather  deep, 
Martha." 

Mrs.  Slawson  smiled.  "  Well,  when  things  is 
deep,  that's  the  way  you  got  to  go  into  them. 
What's  on  your  plate  you  got  to  chew,  an'  if  you 
don't  like  it,  you  can  lump  it,  an'  if  you  don't  like 
to  lump  it,  you  can  cut  it  up  finer.  But  there  it  is, 
an'  there  it  stays,  till  you  swaller  it,  somehow." 

"  Do  you  enjoy  or  resent  the  good  things  that 
are,  or  seem  to  be,  heaped  on  other  people's 
plates?" 

"  Why,  yes.  Certaintly  I  enjoy  'em.  But, 
after  all,  the  things  taste  best  that  we're  eatin' 
ourselves,  don't  they?  An'  if  I  had  money 
enough  like  some,  so's  I  didn't  have  to  borrer  to 
see  my  man  through,  why,  I  don't  go  behind  the 
door  to  say  I'd  be  glad  an'  grateful." 

"  Would  you  take  the  money  as  a  gift, 
Martha?" 

'  You  done  far  more  than  your  share  already, 
sir." 

"Then,  if  you  won't  take,  and  you'd  rather  not 
borrow,  we  must  find  another  way.  A  rather 
good  idea  occurred  to  me  last  night.  I've  an  un 
commonly  nice  old  place  up  in  New  Hampshire — 


1 86  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

in  the  mountains.  It  was  my  father's — and  my 
grandfather's.  It's  been  closed  for  many  years, 
and  I  haven't  given  it  a  thought,  except  when  the 
tax-bills  came  due,  or  the  caretaker  sent  in  his 
account.  It's  so  far  away  my  sister  won't  live 
there,  and — it's  too  big  and  formidable  for  one 
lone  man  to  summer  in  by  himself.  Now,  why 
wouldn't  it  be  a  capital  idea  for  you  to  pack  up 
your  goods  and  chattels  here,  and  take  your  fam 
ily  right  up  there — make  that  your  home?  The 
lodge  is  comfortable  and  roomy,  and  I  don't  see 
why  Mr.  Slawson  couldn't  recover  there  as  well, 
if  not  better,  than  where  he  is.  I'd  like  to  put 
the  place  in  order — make  some  improvements, 
do  a  little  remodeling.  I  need  a  trusty  man  to 
oversee  the  laborers,  and  keep  an  eye  and  close 
tab  on  the  workmen  I  send  up  from  town.  If 
Mr.  Slawson  would  act  as  superintendent  for  me, 
I'd  pay  him  what  such  a  position  is  worth,  and 
you  would  have  your  house,  fuel,  and  vegetables 
free.  Don't  try  to  answer  now.  You'd  be  fool 
ish  to  make  a  decision  in  a  hurry  that  you  might 
regret  later.  Write  to  your  husband.  Talk  it 
over  with  him.  He  might  prefer  to  choose  a  job 
for  himself.  And  remember — it's  'way  out  in 
the  country.  The  children  would  have  to  walk 
some  distance  to  school." 

"  Give  'em  exercise,  along  of  their  exercises," 
said  Martha. 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  187 

"  The  church  in  the  village  is  certainly  three 
miles  off." 

"  My  husband  don't  go  to  church  as  reg'lar  as  I 
might  wish,"  Mrs.  Slawson  observed.  "  I  tell'm, 
the  reason  men  don't  be  going  to  church  so  much 
these  days,  is  for  fear  they  might  hear  something 
they  believe." 

"  You  would  find  country  life  tame,  perhaps, 
after  the  city." 

"  Well,  the  city  life  ain't  been  that  wild  for  me 
that  I'd  miss  the  dizzy  whirl.  An'  anyhow — 
we'd  be  together!"  Martha  said.  "  We'd  be  to 
gether,  maybe,  come  our  weddin'-day.  The 
fourth  o'  July.  We  never  been  parted  oncet,  on 
that  day,  all  the  fifteen  years  we  been  married," 
she  mused,  "  but " 

"Well?" 

"  But,  come  winter,  an'  Mis'  Sherman  opens 
the  house  again,  an'  wants  Miss  Claire  back, 
who's  goin'  to  look  out  for  her?  " 

"  Why — a — as  to  that "  said  Mr.  Ronald, 

so  vaguely  it  sounded  almost  supercilious  to 
Claire. 

In  an  instant  her  pride  rose  in  revolt,  rebelling 
against  the  notion  he  might  have,  that  she  could 
possibly  put  forth  any  claim  upon  his  considera 
tion. 

"  O,  please,  please  don't  think  of  me,  Mar 
tha,"  she  cried  vehemently.  "  I  have  entirely 


i88  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

other  plans.  You  mustn't  give  me,  or  my  af 
fairs,  a  thought,  in  settling  your  own.  You  must 
do  what's  best  for  you.  You  mustn't  count  for, 
or  on,  me  in  the  least.  I  have  not  told  you  be 
fore,  but  I've  made  up  my  mind  I  must  resign  my 
position  at  Mrs.  Sherman's,  anyway.  I'll  write 
her  at  once.  I'll  tell  her  myself,  of  course,  but  I 
tell  you  now  to  show  that  you  mustn't  have  me 
in  mind,  at  all,  in  making  your  plans." 

Martha's  low-pitched  voice  fell  upon  Claire's 
tense,  nervous  one  with  soothing  calmness. 

"  Certaintly  not,  Miss  Claire,"  she  said. 

"  And  you'll  write  to  your  husband  and  report 
to  him  what  I  propose,"  suggested  Mr.  Ronald, 
as  if  over  Claire's  head. 

"Shoor  I  will,  sir!" 

"  And  if  he  likes  the  idea,  my  secretary  will 
discuss  the  details  with  him  later.  Wages,  duties 
— all  the  details." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  you  may  tell  the  children  I'll  leave  or 
ders  that  the  car  be  sent  for  them  some  other  day. 
I  find  it's  not  convenient,  after  all,  for  me  to  take 
them  myself  this  afternoon.  I  spoke  too  fast  in 
proposing  it.  But  they'll  not  be  disappointed. 
Mr.  Blennerhasset  will  see  to  that.  I  leave  town 
to-night  to  be  gone — well,  indefinitely.  In  any 
case,  until  well  on  into  the  autumn  or  winter. 
Any  letter  you  may  direct  to  me,  care  of  Mr. 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  189 

Blennerhasset  at  the  office,  will  be  attended  to  at 

once.  Good-by,  Martha  ! — Miss  Lang " 

He  was  gone. 

When  the  car  had  shot  out  of  sound  and  sight, 
Martha  withdrew  from  the  window,  from  behind 
the  blinds  of  which  she  had  been  peering  eagerly. 

"  He  certainly  is  a  little  woolly  wonder,  mean 
ing  no  offense,"  she  observed  with  a  deep-drawn 
sigh.  '  Yes,  Mr.  Ronald  is  as  good  as  they  make 
'em,  an'  dontcher  forget  it!" 

She  seated  herself  opposite  Claire,  drawing 
her  chair  quite  close. 

"  Pity  you  an'  him  is  so  on  the  outs.  I'm  not 
speakin'  o'  him,  s'much,  but  anybody  with  half 
an  eye  can  see  you  got  a  reg'lar  hate  on'm.  Any 
one  can  see  that!  " 

A  moment  of  silence,  and  then  Claire  flung 
herself,  sobbing  and  quivering,  across  Martha's 
lap,  ready  to  receive  her. 

"  O,  Martha!  "  she  choked. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

"TT  7ELL  now,  what  do  you  think  o'  that! 
VV  Ain't  it  the  end  o'  the  law?  The  high 
handed  way  he  has  o'  doin'  things !  Think  o'  the 
likes  o'  me  closin'  up  my  '  town-house '  an'  takin' 
my  fam'ly  (includin'  Flicker  an'  Nixcomeraus) 
*  to  the  country-place  ' — for  all  the  world  like  I 
was  a  lady,  born  an'  bred. — Sammy,  you  sit  still 
in  your  seat,  an'  eat  the  candy  Mr.  Blennerhasset 
brought  you,  an'  quit  your  rubberin',  or  the 
train'll  start  suddently,  an'  give  you  a  twist  in 
your  neck  you  won't  get  over  in  a  hurry.  .  .  . 
Ma,  you  comfortable?  .  .  .  Cora  an'  Francie, 
see  you  behave  like  little  ladies,  or  I'll  attend  to 

you  later.     See  how  quiet  Sabina   is Say, 

Sabina,  what  you  doin'?  Now,  what  do  you 
think  o'  that!  If  that  child  ain't  droppin'  off  to 
sleep,  suckin'  the  red  plush  o'  the  seat!  For  all 
the  world  like  she  didn't  have  a  wink  o'  rest  last 
night,  or  a  bite  or  a  sup  this  mornin' — an'  she 
slep'  the  clock  'round,  an'  et  a  breakfast  fit  for  a 
trooper.  Say,  Sabina — here,  wake  up !  An' 
take  your  tongue  off'n  that  beautiful  cotton- 
backed  plush,  d'you  hear?  In  the  first  place,  the 
gen'1'men  that  owns  this  railroad  don't  want  their 

190 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  191 

upholsterry  et  by  little  girls,  an',  besides,  it's 
makin'  your  mouth  all  red — an',  second-place,  the 
cars  isn't  the  time  to  sleep — leastwise,  not  so  early 
in  the  mornin'.  Miss  Claire,  child,  don't  look  so 
scared!  You  ain't  committin'  no  crime  goin' 
along  with  us,  an'  he'll  never  suspicion  anyhow. 
He's  prob'ly  on  the  boundin'  biller  by  this  time, 
an'  Mr.  Blennerhasset  he  don't  know  you  from  a 
hole  in  the  ground.  Besides,  whose  business  is  it, 
anyway?  You  ain't  goin'  as  his  guest,  as  I  told 
you  before.  You're  my  boarder,  same's  you've 
always  been,  an'  it's  nobody's  concern  if  you  board 
down  here  or  up  there.  .  .  . 

"  Say,  ain't  these  flowers  just  grand?  The  box 
looks  kinder  like  a  young  coffin,  but  never  mind 
that.  .  .  . 

"A  body  would  think  all  that  fruit  an'  stuff 
was  enough  of  a  send-off,  but  Lor — Mr.  Ronald, 
he  don't  do  things  by  halves,  does  he?  It 
wouldn't  seem  so  surprisin'  now,  if  he'd  'a'  knew 
you  was  comin'  along  an'  all  this  (Mr.  Blenner 
hasset  himself  helpin'  look  after  us,  an'  see  us  off 
— as  if  I  was  a  little  tender  flower  that  didn't 
know  a  railroad  ticket  from  a  trunk-check),  I 
say,  it  wouldn't  seem  so  surprisin'  if  he'd  'a' 
knew  you  was  comin'  along.  I'd  think  it  was  on 
your  account.  What  they  calls  delicate  atten 
tions.  The  sorter  thing  a  gen'l'man  does  when 
he's  got  his  eye  on  a  young  lady  for  his  wife,  an' 


192  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

is  sorter  breakin'  it  to  her  gently — kinder  beck- 
onin'  with  a  barn-door,  as  the  sayin'  is. 

"  But  Mr.  Ronald  ain't  the  faintest  notion  but 
you've  gone  back  to  your  folks  in  Grand  Rapids, 
an'  so  all  these  favors  is  for  me,  of  course.  Well, 
I  certainly  take  to  luckshurry  like  a  duck  takes  to 
water.  I  never  knew  it  was  so  easy  to  feel  com 
fortable.  I  guess  I  been  a  little  hard  on  the 
wealthy  in  the  past.  Now,  if  you  should  marry 
a  rich  man,  I  don't  believe — 

Claire  sighed  wearily.  "  I'll  never  marry  any 
body,  Martha.  And  besides,  a  rich  man  wouldn't 
be  likely  to  go  to  a  cheap  boarding-house  for  a 

wife,  and  next  winter  I O,  isn't  it  warm? 

Don't  you  wish  the  train  would  start?  " 

At  last  the  train  did  start,  and  they  were 
whirled  out  of  the  steaming  city,  over  the  hills 
and  far  away,  through  endless  stretches  of  sunlit 
country,  and  the  long,  long  hours  of  the  hot  sum 
mer  day,  until,  at  night,  they  reached  their 
destination,  and  found  Sam  Slawson  waiting  there 
in  the  cool  twilight  to  welcome  them. 

Followed  days  of  rarest  bliss  for  Martha,  when 
she  could  marshal  out  her  small  forces,  setting 
each  his  particular  task,  and  seeing  it  was  done 
with  thoroughness  and  despatch,  so  that  in  an  in 
conceivably  short  time  her  new  home  shone  with 
all  the  spotless  cleanliness  of  the  old,  and  added 
comeliness  beside. 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  193 

"  Ain't  it  the  little  palace?  "  she  inquired,  when 
all  was  finished.  "  I  wouldn't  change  my  lodge 
for  the  great  house,  grand  as  it  is,  not  for  any 
thing  you  could  offer  me !  Nor  I  wouldn't  call  the 
queen  my  cousin  now  we're  all  in  it  together. 
I'm  feelin'  that  joyful  I'd  like  to  have  what  they 
calls  a  house-swarmin',  only  there  ain't,  by  the 
looks  of  it,  any  neighbors  much,  to  swarm." 

"  No,"  said  Ma  regretfully,  "  I  noticed  there 
ain't  no  neighbors — to  speak  of." 

"  Well,  then,  we  can't  speak  o'  them,"  returned 
Martha.  "  Which  will  save  us  from  fallin'  under 
God's  wrath  as  gossips.  There's  never  any  great 
loss  without  some  small  gain." 

"  But  we  must  have  some  sort  of  jollification," 
Claire  insisted.  "  Doesn't  your  wedding-day — 
the  anniversary  of  it,  I  mean — come  'round  about 
this  time?  You  said  the  Fourth,  didn't  you?  " 

Martha  nodded.  "  Sam  Slawson  an'  me'll  be 
fifteen  years  married  come  Fourth  of  July,"  she 
announced.  ''  We  chose  that  day,  because  we 
was  so  poor  we  knew  we  couldn't  do  nothin'  great 
in  the  line  o'  celebration  ourselves,  so  we  just 
kinder  managed  it,  so's  without  inconveniencin' 
the  nation  any  or  addin'  undooly  to  its  expenses, 
it  would  do  our  celebratin'  for  us.  You  ain't  no 
notion  how  grand  it  makes  a  body  feel  to  be 
woke  up  at  the  crack  o'  dawn  on  one's  weddin' 
mornin'  with  the  noise  o'  the  bombardin'  in  honor 


194  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

o'  the  day!  I'm  like  to  miss  it  this  year,  with 
only  my  own  four  young  Yankees  spoilin'  my  sleep 
settin'  off  torpeders  under  my  nose." 

'  You  won't  miss  anything,"  said  Claire  re 
assuringly,  "  but  you  mustn't  say  a  word  to  Sam. 
And  you  mustn't  ask  any  questions  yourself,  for 
what  is  going  to  happen  is  to  be  a  wonderful  sur 
prise!  " 

"  You  betcher  life  it  is!"  murmured  Martha 
complacently  to  herself,  after  Claire  had  hastened 
off  to  confer  with  the  children  and  plan  a  program 
for  the  great  day. 

Ma  to  make  the  wedding-cake !  Cora  to  re 
cite  her  "  piece."  Francie  and  Sammy  to  be 
dressed  as  pages  and  bear,  each,  a  tray  spread 
with  the  gifts  it  was  to  be  her  own  task  and  priv 
ilege  to  contrive.  Sabina  to  hover  over  all  as  a 
sort  of  Cupid,  who,  if  somewhat  "  hefty "  as 
to  avoirdupois,  was  in  all  other  respects  a  perfect 
little  Love. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  intervening  days  were 
winged,  so  fast  they  flew.  Claire  never  could 
have  believed  there  was  so  much  to  be  done  for 
such  a  simple  festival,  and,  of  course,  the  entire 
weight  fell  on  her  shoulders,  for  Ma  was  as 
much  of  a  child  in  such  matters  as  any,  and 
Martha  could  not  be  appealed  to,  being  the  bride, 
and,  moreover,  being  away  at  the  great  house, 
where  tremendous  changes  were  in  progress. 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  195 

But  at  last  came  the  wonderful  day,  and  every 
thing  was  in  readiness. 

First,  a  forenoon  of  small  explosive  delights 
for  the  children — then,  as  the  day  waned,  a  din 
ner  eaten  outdoors,  picnic-fashion  on  the  grass, 
under  the  spreading  trees,  beneath  the  shadows  of 
the  mighty  mountain-tops. 

What  difference  if  Ma's  cake,  crowning  a  per 
fect  feast,  had  suffered  a  little  in  the  frosting  and 
its  touching  sentiment,  traced  in  snowy  lettering 
upon  a  bridal-white  ground,  did  read 

FIFTEEN  YEARS  OF  MARRED  LIFE. 

It  is  sometimes  one's  ill-luck  to  misspell  a 
word,  and  though  a  wedding-cake  is  usually  large 
and  this  was  no  exception,  the  space  was  limited, 
and,  besides,  no  one  but  Sam  senior  and  Miss 
Lang  noticed  it  anyhow. 

A  quizzical  light  in  his  eye,  Mr.  Slawson 
scrawled  on  a  scrap  of  paper  which  he  passed  to 
Claire  (with  apologies  for  the  liberty)  the  words: 

"  She'd  been  nearer  the  truth  if  she'd  left  out 
the  two  rrs  while  she  was  about  it,  and  had  it : 

FIFTEEN  YEARS  OF  MA'D  LIFE." 

Then  came  Cora's  piece. 

Her  courtesy,  right  foot  back,  knees  suddenly 
bent,  right  hand  on  left  side  (presumably  over 


i96  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

heart,  actually  over  stomach),  chin  diving  into 
the  bony  hollow  of  her  neck — Cora's  courtesy  was 
a  thing  to  be  remembered. 

LADY  CLARE 

She  announced  it  with  ceremony,  and  this  time, 
Martha  noticed,  the  recalcitrant  garter  held  fast 
to  its  moorings. 

"  '  'Twas  the  time  when  lilies  blow 

And  clouds  are  highest  up  in  air, 
Lord  Ronald  brought  a  lily-white  doe — '  " 

"His!"  prompted  Martha  in  a  loud  stage- 
whisper.  "  His — not  '  a  ' " 

Cora  accepted  the  correction  obediently,  but 
her  self-confidence  was  shaken.  She  managed  to 
stammer, 

"  '  Give  t-to — his  c-cousin,  L-Lady  C-Clare,'  " 

and  then  a  storm  of  tears  set  in,  drowning  her  ut 
terance. 

;'  Well,  what  do  you  think  o'  that?  "  exclaimed 
Martha,  amazed  at  the  undue  sensitiveness  of  her 
offspring.  "  Never  mind,  Cora !  You  done  it 
grand! — as  far  as  you  went." 

To  cover  this  slight  mishap,  Claire  gave  a  hur 
ried  signal  to  the  pages,  who  appeared  forthwith 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  197 

in  splendid  form,  if  a  little  overweighted  by  the 
burdens  they  bore.  In  some  strange  way  Claire's 
simple  gifts  had  been  secretly  augmented  until 
they  piled  up  upon  the  trays,  twin-mountains  of 
treasure. 

When  the  first  surprise  was  past,  and  the  won 
ders  examined  and  exclaimed  over,  Martha  bent 
toward  Claire,  from  her  seat  of  honor  on  the 
grass. 

"  Didn't  I  think  to  tell  you  Mr.  Blennerhasset 
come  up  on  the  early  train?  Sammy,  he  drove 
down  to  the  station  himself  to  meet'm.  Mr. 
Blennerhasset  brought  up  all  them  grand  things — 
for  Mr.  Ronald.  Ain't  he — I  mean  Mr.  Ronald 
— a  caution  to've  remembered  the  day?  I  been  so 
took  up  with  things  over  there  to  the  great  house, 
I  musta  forgot  to  tell  you  about  Mr.  Blenner 
hasset.  Ain't  everything  just  elegant? 

"  It's  pretty,  the  way  the  night  comes  down 
up  here.  With  the  sharp  pin-heads  o'  stars 
prickin'  through,  one  by  one.  They  don't  seem 
like  that  in  the  city,  do  they?  An'  the  moon's 
comin'  up  great!  " 

Claire's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  grassy  slope 
ahead. 

'Who  are  those  three  men  over  there?"  she 
asked.  "What  are  they  doing?  I  can't  make 
out  in  the  dusk  anything  but  shadow-forms." 

"  Sam,  an'  Mr.   Blennerhasset,   an' — an' — an- 


198  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

other  fella  from  the  neighborhood.  Mr.  Blen- 
nerhasset  he  brought  up  some  fire-works  to  sur 
prise  the  young  uns,  an'  they're  goin'  to  set  'em 
off.  It's  early  yet,  but  the  sooner  it's  over  the 
sooner  to  sleep.  An'  the  kids  has  had  a  excitin' 
day." 

Up  shot  a  rocket,  drawing  the  children's 
breaths  skyward  with  it  in  long-drawn  "  A-ahs !  " 
of  perfect  ecstasy. 

Then  pin-wheels,  some  of  which,  not  to  belie 
their  nature,  balked  obstinately,  refusing  to  be 
coerced  or  wheedled  into  doing  their  duty. 

"  Say,  now,  mother,"  cried  Francie  excitedly — 
"  that  pin-wheel — in  the  middle  of  it  was  a  cork. 
When  it  got  over  spinning  fast,  I  saw  the  cork." 

"  Don't  you  never  do  that  no  more,"  cautioned 
Martha.  "  Never  you  see  the  cork.  It's  the 
light  you  want  to  keep  your  eye  on!  "  which,  as 
Claire  thought  it  over,  seemed  to  her  advice  of  a 
particularly  shrewd  and  timely  nature. 

She  was  still  pondering  this,  and  some  other 
things,  when  she  felt  Mrs.  Slawson's  hand  on  her 
shoulder. 

"  It's  over  now,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  take  the  young 
'uns  in,  an'  put  'em  to  bed.  But  don't  you  stir. 
Just  you  sit  here  a  while  in  the  moonlight,  an' 
enjoy  the  quiet  in  peace  by  yourself.  You  done  a 
hard  day's  work,  an'  you  give  me  an'  Sammy 
what  we  won't  forget  in  a  hurry.  So  you  just 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  199 

stay  out  here  a  few  minits — or  as  long  as  you 
wanter — away  from  the  childern's  clatter,  an' — 
God  bless  you !  " 

Claire's  gaze,  following  the  great  form  affec 
tionately,  saw  it  pass  into  the  darker  shadows, 
then  forth — out  into  the  light  that  shone  from  the 
open  door  of  the  lodge. 

"  She's  home — and  they're  together!  "  Un 
consciously,  she  spoke  her  grateful  thought  aloud. 

"  Yes,  she's  home — and  they're  together!  " 

The  words  were  repeated  very  quietly,  but 
there  was  that  in  the  well-known  voice,  so  close 
at  hand,  that  seemed  to  Claire  to  shake  the  world. 
In  an  instant  she  was  upon  her  feet,  gazing  up 
speechless,  into  Francis  Ronald's  baffling  eyes. 

"  You  are  kind  to  every  one,"  he  said,  "  but. 
for  me  you  have  only  a  sting,  and  yet — I  love 
you." 


Martha  was  still  busy  wrestling  with  the  pyra 
mid  of  dishes  left  over  from  the  feast,  when  at 
last  Claire  came  in  alone. 

"  Did  you  get  a  chanct  to  compose  yourself, 
an'  quiet  down  some  under  the  stars?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Slawson.  "  It's  been  a  noisy  day,  with  lots 
doin'.  I  don't  wonder  you're  so  tired — your 
cheeks  is  fairly  blazin'  with  it,  an'  your  eyes  are 
shinin'  like  lit  lamps." 


200  MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY 

"You  knew — you  knew  he  was  here!"  said 
Claire  accusingly. 

"He?  Who?  O,  you  mean  Mr.  Ronald? 
Didn't  I  think  to  tell  you,  he  come  up  along  with 
Mr.  Blennerhasset?  I  been  so  flustrated  with 
all  the  unexpected  surprises  of  the  day,  it  musta 
slipped  my  mind." 

"  I've  seen  Mr.  Ronald!  "  Claire  said.  "  I've 
spoken  with  him!  " 

"Now,  what  do  you  think  o'  that!  Wonders 
never  cease !  " 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  did?  " 

"Search  me!" 

"  I  told  him — the  truth" 

"We-ell?" 

"  And — I'm  going  to  marry  him!  " 

Mrs.  Slawson  sat  down  hard  upon  the  nearest 
chair,  as  if  the  happy  shock  had  deprived  her  of 
strength  to  support  her  own  weight. 

"  No !  "  she  fairly  shouted. 

"Yes!"  cried  Claire.  And,  O,  Martha! 
I'm  so  happy!  And — did  you  ever  dream  such  a 
thing  could  possibly  happen?  " 

''  Well,  you  certaintly  have  give  me  a  start.  I 
often  thought  how  I'd  like  to  see  Mr.  Ronald 
your  financiay  or  your  trosso,  or  whatever  they 
call  it.  But,  that  it  would  really  come  to 
pass She  paused. 

"  O,  you  don't  know  how  I  dreaded  next  win- 


MARTHA  BY-THE-DAY  201 

ter,"  Claire  said,  as  if  she  were  thinking  aloud. 
"  I  went  over  it — and  I  went  over  it,  in  my  mind 
— what  I'd  do — where  I'd  go — and  now — 
Now!  ...  I  couldn't  take  that  fine  job  you  had 
your  eye  on  for  me,  not  even  if  it  had  come  to 
something.  Don't  you  remember?  I  mean,  the 
splendid  job  you  had  the  idea  about,  that  first 
night  I  was  sick.  I  shan't  need  it  now,  shall  I, 
Martha?" 

"  You  got  it!  "  said  Martha. 

Claire's  wide  eyes  opened  wider  in  wonderment. 
She  stared  silently  at  Mrs.  Slawson  for  a  moment. 
Then  the  light  began  to  break  in  upon  her  slowly, 
but  with  unmistakable  illumination. 

'You — don't — mean?"  she  stammered. 

"  Certaintly!  "  said  Martha. 


THE  END 


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MAKING  A  BUSINESS  WOMAN.    By  Anne  Shannon  Monroe 

A  young  woman  whose  business  assets  are  good  sense, 
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THE  SQUIRREL-CAGE.  By  Dorothy  Canfield 

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HEREDITY  in  RELATION  to  EUGENICS.    By  C.  B.  Davenport 

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THE  GLEAM.  By  Helen  R.Albee 

A  frank  spiritual  autobiography.     (4th  printing.    $1.35  net.) 


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